Soldier X
by Gleena
Summary: Major Isabella Swan, army psychologist, is swiftly climbing the ladder of success when a confidential letter and a clandestine meeting change everything. Her newest patient proves to be the most challenging question in her new life. AU
1. Confidential

**Soldier X. Major Isabella Swan, army psychologist, is swiftly climbing the ladder of success when a confidential letter and a clandestine meeting change everything. Her newest patient proves to be the most challenging question in her new life. **

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Because it was fighting to get out. Get it? Soldier X? Fighting to get out? Okay, shutting. Thank you edward-bella-harry-ginny (ebhg) for reading this and making corrections and suggestions!**

Ch. 1. Confidential

I was secretly pleased by the sound my heels made as I walked swiftly down the hallway. The floors were polished cement speckled with tan stones and waxed to perfection. My dress heels made a very satisfying clip as I approached my office. _My_ office. In the _Pentagon_. I had worked like a dog since I was sixteen years old to reach this point in my career. Twelve hard years of work and I had reached as high as I could go considering my age and years of service. You could call me Major Isabella Swan or Dr. Isabella Swan, Ph.D., Psychology. Either one was correct, but I actually preferred Major Swan. The Ph.D. had been a piece of cake compared to what it had taken to get me through basic training and beyond, so the rank was more precious to me than the education. I was exactly where I wanted to be doing exactly what I wanted to do. I had now had my office for exactly one week, the same length of time I'd had my new security clearance. If called upon, I now had enough clearance that I could provide counseling for POTUS. I was sure my invite to the Oval Office would come any day. _Not._

I entered the receptionist's area and told Angela good morning. She looked crisp in a white blouse and black skirt.

"Good morning to you, too, Major Swan. Here's your mail." She handed me a stack of envelopes, including one marked "confidential." I took the stack and just smiled and nodded at her, trying my best to appear nonchalant. Sure, I got confidential communiqués every day.

I walked back into my office, closed the door, and sat down at my desk. My first impulse was to call Dr. Molina. My Ph.D. advisor had been there for me even when I hated his guts during the fourth rewrite of my thesis. While he was a civilian, his work with PTSD and servicemen had made him quite familiar with military protocol. Unfortunately, sharing confidential information with civilians was frowned upon. I took a few moments to stare at the imposing envelope.

I decided to quickly go through my other mail while I waffled about the envelope. Other than a memo about a staff meeting, there was nothing of impact on my schedule. Which left me back where I was five minutes earlier. Staring at the envelope. Hey, maybe it was just patient files; those were confidential.

I opened it carefully, using the dull metal letter opener which had come with the office, along with a giant metal stapler that I thought might have been around during World War II and a three-hole punch which only worked on one piece of paper at a time despite weighing about 10 pounds. My requisition for a computer had not yet gone through all the "proper channels."

Okay, now I was distracting myself by thinking about my poorly equipped office.

The envelope held a single sheet of paper, letterhead from the Office of the Director of Special Forces. My presence was requested at an interview tomorrow morning, 0800. A car would be sent to my apartment, yada yada. I could barely process what I was seeing. Why an interview? For what? I wasn't stupid enough to believe that the request was anything less than a command. As it had come in a confidential envelope, I wasn't even sure who I could tell. Luckily, I had a schedule which included limited rounds of my patients. My hours in the Pentagon itself were limited. I could go on this "requested" interview and not have to account for my whereabouts. Was that what was expected?

Feeling extremely foolish, I filed the letter in my patient files, with a fake name "F. Conner." For Con-Fidential. I honestly didn't know what to do with the thing. I took the envelope out to the front office and shredded it. Surely someone would eventually give me a manual on protocols, but I was just too new to this game.

Angela was the assistant for me and two other professionals, Major Mike Newton, an orthopedist, and Major Tyler Crowley, a psychiatrist. We were on a team of military medical professionals preparing to recommend counseling protocols for soldiers returning from duty, both those injured in the line of duty and those who had "merely" served their term. So much had happened in recent years to raise awareness of the difficulties of returning to civilian life after a tour of duty that we had been convened to plan for improved protocols and services.

The job was not glamorous, but if we were successful, I would be fulfilling a dream I'd had since high school. We were still collecting data and drawing up tentative strategies. It would probably be 6 months before our final plan was ready to be presented, and we were just 3 cogs in a much bigger machine. Angela was not a cog at all; she was practically an axle. I had only been in the office for a week, and I loved her so much I thought I should be shopping for engagement rings.

"Major Swan? You know you can leave anything you want shredded in your "to be shredded" box? It's right inside your door, next to the recycle box." Angela was chastising me in her gentle way.

"Oh, you're right. Sorry. I'll keep that in mind." I was new enough that random acts of stupidity were still forgiven. Like yesterday when I had jammed up the copier down the hall and Angela had reminded me that I wasn't really supposed to touch it.

Our door was flung open, and Major Newton stepped into the office, glanced around, and burst into song, his arms outstretched as he hammed it up. "Way down upon the Swan-ee River!" He put extra vibrato into his "ee," and when he finished the impromptu performance, he tossed his cap at the hat tree in the corner. As usual, his hat hit the rack and promptly fell to the floor with a soft thud. I was unable to stop my left eyebrow from climbing a fraction. Angela snorted and shook her head, returning to typing at her computer.

"Oh, come on, ladies. That was both witty and amusing." Maj. Newton radiated self-confidence with his eager smile. Even his blonde hair radiated self-contentment.

"You're half right," muttered Angela under her breath, causing me to cough with suppressed amusement. Mike was an excellent orthopedist; I had counseled some of his patients while he worked with providing them with appropriate prosthetics. He had a wonderful manner with patients and a great capacity for compassion. He was startlingly awful with women.

The door opened again and Major Crowley entered. He was about ten years older than I was; psychiatry takes a darn sight longer than a masters in counseling and Ph.D. in psychology. While Mike was awkwardly eager with women, Tyler was very smooth. He was divorced already, and the scuttlebutt I'd heard was that his wandering eye had been the primary cause of ending his marriage. I didn't know if the rumors were true, and I didn't know him well.

"Anything going on?" Tyler asked with confusion.

"No, just Major Newton's audition tape for American Idol. Although there is a staff meeting at ten hundred," I informed Major Crowley.

"Crap! I had plans. Why don't they give us more warning?" Mike was annoyed.

"Um, we got an email last week and a reminder memo this morning," I pointed out. Mike had scheduling issues which Angela did her best to solve. I left the three of them to discuss the uselessness of the scheduled staff meeting and went back into my office. I had a pile of paperwork to sort through. I soon lost myself in work, avoiding any thoughts of the letter currently burning a hole through my mental filing cabinet.

Leaving the Pentagon via the Metro at the day's end, I happily headed for the downtown station which would lead me back to my apartment. I'd been settled in my new place for only two weeks and at work for only one, but it felt comfortable and exciting at the same time. I was used to frequent moves; the three years it took to get my Ph.D. was the longest I'd stayed in one place since my high school years. I settled in my middle seat of the metro car listening to the warped audio belt out announcements of each upcoming station. I had surreptitiously probed Mike and Tyler during separate coffee breaks, but I could get no sense as to whether either of them had received surprise confidential requests for interviews. Of course, I hadn't exactly been clear with my vague questions.

I continued my meditation all the way through my 3-block walk to my apartment. I climbed stairs to the third floor (there was an elevator but I preferred not to use it) and unlocked my door. I flipped the hallway light switch, and nothing happened.

"Son of a biscuit eater!" I still didn't like actual swear words, a relic of my life with my dad. Charlie never used the "real" words at home, and his quiet rejection of vulgarity had become a part of my own lifestyle. I stumbled half way down the dark hallway and flipped the kitchen light. Nothing. I was still new to the apartment, so I knew I wouldn't be able to find my flashlight drawer without some ambient lighting. I headed for the living room window to pull the shades, figuring that even after dark, I'd get enough from the street lights to see around the room.

"Stay where you are, please, Major Swan," commanded a smooth male voice from where my couch sat under the windows in my darkened living room.

I froze in place.

"Don't worry, I'm not here to injure you in any way."

"I hope you'll excuse me if I don't trust you. You _have_ broken into my apartment." Luckily, my voice was steady. I thought I could get back into the hallway and out the door before he could catch me. I stood poised for flight, waiting to see how this would play out. I could faintly smell cigarette smoke; it was too faint to suggest he had smoked in my apartment, but he was definitely a smoker.

"Today you received a confidential communication."

I stayed silent. Did I deny? Confirm? Refuse to confirm or deny? I was not a spy; I was a psychologist. Maybe this was a test to see if I deserved my new security clearance?

"You will go on this interview. You will do your best to obtain the job offered."

"Why are you here, telling me these things, and who are you?" I decided that was neither a confirmation nor a denial.

"Who I am is irrelevant. What I can do for you is what you should want to know. I can ensure that your proposed protocols are implemented. Everything you want to see happen for our returning servicemen will become a reality."

I was stunned. A little voice in my head murmured "Faustian bargain." I didn't want to ask what he wanted in return, but I had to.

"What, exactly, are you asking for?"

"All you need to do is your job. Occasionally I will require information. You will not have to compromise your work in any way. I just need to know observations you make during your work. And in return, you will get everything you desire, from a passed resolution in the military to funding from Congress for the new plan."

_Everything I desire._ Faustian indeed. I didn't need to be told that an offer of this magnitude required an equal sacrifice on my part. He could promise that Congress would pass a funding bill? He couldn't be a foreign agent. I was so out of my depth that I doubted I could break the surface.

"I don't even know what I'm being asked to do here. There is no way I can agree to this, whatever this is, and there is no way I can outright refuse you. I have no information."

"I'll be back. Just accept that I'm a patriot, and your work for me is work for your country. Now, go back to your bedroom and wait ten minutes before you come out."

I stumbled down the hallway to my room. I sat on my bed in the dark, and, after what I guessed was ten minutes, all the lights in my apartment came on. I heard the whirring sounds of the refrigerator compressor starting up and the beep of my answering machine turning on. My reflection in the dresser mirror showed the terror I had been through, my eyes wide and my face shiny with perspiration. I absently pulled my hair out of its bun. The adrenaline which had pumped through my system for the last 15 minutes was burning out, and I was starting to crash.

I went out to the living room on shaky legs. I could still faintly smell the aroma of cigarettes and a cologne I couldn't place. Nothing appeared out of order. I checked my front door and found it to be fully locked, even the deadbolt thrown. I put the chain on, although I suspected it would be no help against Mystery Man. I could feel hairs standing up on the back of my neck. Whoever this man was, he could get to me anytime, anyplace. The message was clear in the form of delivery, if not in the message itself.

I stripped out of my uniform and stepped into the shower. After showering and dressing for bed, I set my alarm for 5 a.m. and fell into a deep slumber of escape.

**AN2: This was a short, introductory chapter. I hope to follow up soon, but Acts of Aggression (yes, I know, chapter 1 is still not posted) is still my priority. This idea keeps fighting with AoA, so I just thought I'd type it when it was giving me trouble. If you feel like commenting on the stupidity of starting two multi-chapter fics at nearly the same time, feel free!**


	2. Interview

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Thank you edward-bella-harry-ginny for your beta skills! Your advice is invaluable, as always!**

**And thank you to all the reviewers! I was so excited by all the responses to Ch. 1!**

Ch. 2. Interview.

I woke at 4:40 according to my treasured ice blue iHome. I pounded my head on my pillows about six times for waking before my precious remaining 20 minutes of sleep were up. Between the sixth and seventh pounding, the events of the previous day flooded back into my mind and I sat up on the edge of my bed, suddenly certain that someone was in the apartment with me. I grabbed the Charlie's old baseball bat from under the edge of the bed and crept out toward the living area. I flipped on the lights and looked around frantically. No one was there. My door was still dead bolted, chain on.

I flipped on every light as I went through the small space, bat at the ready. No one.

I realized that I wasn't going to get over this anytime soon. My personal space had been invaded, and I was terrified and furious, and I didn't even know what it was all about. Yet.

The worst feeling was that there was no one I could consult. The confidentiality meant my hands were tied; I couldn't see how I could report the break-in without violating the other confidence. Who would I have called anyway? Dr. Molina? Renee? Ben? Sad to say, the closest person to me now might have been Major Newton. We were working in the same office and had shared some patients. Somehow I didn't think he needed the encouragement.

I put on my running clothes, grabbed a towel and my iPod, and went down to the gym in the basement. The well-equipped free gym had been the deal-maker for getting my new apartment, which was small and had a terrible view. There was no pool, but there was a room with three high quality treadmills, cybex weight machines, and nice looking weight benches. The flat panel tv and the powerful air conditioning were icing on the cake. I spent the entire run trying to take control of my emotions, especially the fear. I stopped after 30 minutes, and did my stretches and crunches. I wanted to be ready in plenty of time for the car coming for me at 0800, and I planned to have a good breakfast to make up for missing dinner the night before.

I showered quickly, toasted some whole wheat, and cooked up an omelet with ham and swiss. I pulled out my laptop and started going over my schedule for the next few days. I hoped the interview wouldn't last past the morning; I needed to swing by my office in the afternoon since I wouldn't be back until Tuesday. I spent Fridays and Mondays at the VA in Hampton, Virginia. I had been assigned there for the past two years. I synced my appointments with my cell phone and checked over my email to see if there were any sudden changes in my patient appointments for the next day. My actions were so ordinary. I dropped my fork and sniffed the room suddenly. I wasn't sure if I could still smell smoke and cologne or if it was just my imagination.

I left my apartment at exactly 0750, dressed in uniform and carrying my messenger bag. I waited near the doors to my building for a car to arrive.

I felt my left eyebrow twitch (I needed to learn to get that under control) when a very shiny black town car came around the corner. The windows were tinted so dark that I wondered if the driver could see. The car stopped directly in front of me, and the passenger door swung open. This was it.

I climbed into the car, and realized with surprise that no one was in the back seat. I shut the door, and the car smoothly pulled away from the curb. I could not see through the windows. At all. The back seat was lit with an overhead light, and there was an opaque divider separating me from the front seat. I hoped to heaven that I didn't puke in the moving vehicle since I had no horizon on which to orient myself.

A voice came over the speakers in the back. "Major Swan. Take the papers out of the compartment in front you, and please place your cell phone in the compartment."

A drawer-like compartment opened in the front center console. I took out the stack of papers and placed my cell phone inside. The drawer closed of its own accord, sort of like a drive-through banking unit.

"The location of the interview is secret. We'll have to disable your cell phone and GPS for the duration of this trip. Please sign the confidentiality agreements. If you decide you cannot fulfill these agreements, we will return you to your apartment."

I read over the documents, twice, since the first time I couldn't process what I was seeing. The Mystery Man's words from the night before kept coming back to me, and I wondered if I had any choice in whether I should sign the agreements. If I didn't sign them, I obviously wasn't doing my best to obtain this job. I had no idea if turning down the job would lead to some sort of retaliation, or if Mystery Man would simply disappear from my life. If I did sign the agreements, it looked like I was doing so with the express intent of breaking them. And the penalty, apparently, was court martial. Fantastic.

Anyone with sense would have turned down the job now. Mystery Man surely would just vanish; it wasn't like I could track him down. He had the upper hand.

Apparently I didn't have sense. I could feel the drive to know burning through me. It was the same feeling that kept me in the library for hours on end when I was working on my dissertation. It wasn't just curiosity; the drive to know and to understand was a demand far beyond idle musings. I wanted to know why this interview was a secret. I wanted to know what was so important that a man purportedly connected with Congress would break into my apartment and pressure me. And, Lord help me, I wanted to be a part of it.

I signed and dated each document. The drawer slid open again, and I put the signed agreements inside. I was committed, either to defy Mystery Man or to commit treason and break the confidentiality agreement and be court martialed. Except, was it treason if Mystery Man was truly a patriot? Perhaps this secretive operation was circumventing the law and I would be bound by my oath of office to report it.

I felt the car slow and make a series of tight turns.

"Major Swan, we have arrived. We will return your cell phone when we return you to your apartment. Take the elevator to level 8."

My door opened abruptly. I grabbed my messenger bag and stepped out. I had wondered how they would keep the location secret when clearly we hadn't left the tri-state area, but I emerged in a dimly lit underground parking garage. There were no markings indicating the building or location and, more disturbingly, no cars on my level. I couldn't even copy down a license plate. My steps echoed off the hard surfaces in the cavernous space.

I entered the nondescript elevator and pressed the button for level 8, which was apparently below my current position. When I stepped into the elevator, I appeared to be on level 3. The elevator went down to level 10 and up to level 1. I imagined there was a separate bank of elevators for any above-ground floors.

When the elevator doors opened on the opposite side from where I had entered, there was a sergeant waiting to escort me. He stood at the beginning of a long, white, concrete block hallway with hideous white lineoleum tiles (with orange speckles!). The fluorescent lighting was cheap, making a buzzing noise and with a visible flashing.

"Major Swan, if you would step through the scanners, we're going to sweep for devices. If you have any electronics in your bag, please declare them now."

"Sergeant. I've got an iPod. My cell phone is with the car." I handed him my bag and stepped through the door-frame shaped scanner. It was like stepping through security at an airport. My escort picked up a wand off the table and scanned my bag. He then opened it and sifted through the contents. I watched in semi-amusement as he unzipped the ladies friend compartment. He was relatively unruffled by its contents, but didn't quite meet my eye as he handed back my bag. We marched down the institutional hallway until he reached a grey unmarked door.

"Major Swan." He opened the door for me, and I walked in, unsure of what to expect. Nothing I had seen this morning had been in the realm of my previous experiences.

The room was a rectangle, its only furniture a rectangular table and two chairs. The back wall was a mirror. I realized I had seen this room before – on countless TV cop shows. It was an interrogation room. I was greeted by an enormous well-muscled man, mid-40s, grim-faced. He had a dusting of grey at his temples, but otherwise his short curly hair was a deep brown. He wore the uniform of a colonel.

"Major Swan? Colonel Emmett McCarty. Please, have a seat." His voice was deep and gravelly, and he didn't crack a smile.

As he was on the far side of the metal table, I was forced to face the mirror. I worked to keep my eyes focused on him and not to drift off to our reflections. I also tried not to speculate about what the mirror was hiding. Colonel McCarty was studying me intently, and I started to feel a little uncomfortable. I kept eye contact and waited for him to begin.

"Your security clearance makes you one possible candidate for a job, the details of which cannot be revealed until after your selection and acceptance. I understand this may disturb you, since you will be forced to commit to a job without knowing key details. If this makes you uncomfortable, you can decline immediately." He looked up at me from the folder he was examining, waiting to see my reaction.

"I'm not familiar with the protocols in Special Forces, Colonel McCarty. I assume this is somewhat standard?" There. That sounded confident.

"I'm not sure we've had this particular situation arise, but we are following procedure. I take it you wish to continue the interview?"

"Yes, sir." There it was again, the burning curiosity, the need to know. I was more and more intrigued with the entire setup.

"Good. Your specialty has been counseling and treatment of returning servicemen?"

"Yes, specifically those suffering traumas of PTSD or those coping with life-changing injuries."

"Have you spent any time in a combat situation?"

"Colonel McCarty, you know that I am prohibited, as a woman in the U.S. army, from combat situations."

"Forget regulations for a moment, Major Swan. Have you been in a combat situation?" He sounded annoyed. I was annoyed as well; he had my file in front of him. At least, I assumed it was a file on me.

"I did one tour in Afghanistan, before completing my M.S. degree. I was assigned to a medical unit, but...." I stopped for a moment. The chaos we had to enter on almost a daily basis couldn't be classified as anything other than combat.

"I know. I've been." There was a brief pause in the interview before Colonel McCarty began again. "What is your strategy when counseling patients who are extremely reluctant, at best, and highly antagonistic at worst?"

"That varies considerably, depending on other factors. Every person is different and requires a different approach. I—" I wasn't sure how to explain it. It wasn't exactly explained in any manuals; I only knew that it worked for me. "I learn people, Colonel McCarty. If I can spend time, nonconfrontationally, in a non-treatment setting, I have always been able to find the key."

"The key?"

"The key to helping the individual."

"And do they appreciate that?"

"Not always. I think the results have been worth it, but it's frequently a difficult process."

Colonel McCarty turned his head slightly, then put one hand to the earpiece he was wearing. I assumed someone behind the glass was giving him a suggestion. Or maybe I was just a paranoid idiot. Who had strange men break into her apartment and then got whisked away by invisible men in cars with blacked-out windows to undisclosed locations.

"You have a part-time staff position at the Pentagon, but you're still counseling patients?"

"Yes. I'm continuing my work at the VA in Hampton, but I'm not taking on any new patients until after my time at the Pentagon is over."

"This assignment may require you to release your patients to other counselors."

"Do I have to give them up to take the position? I'd rather see if I can make the scheduling work. Most patients develop a rapport with a counselor. It can cause setbacks to switch."

"We will leave the details up to you." He turned his head again, and I knew he was listening to his headset. He turned back to me. "I think I've heard enough for today, Major Swan. Your escort will return you to the elevator, and the car is waiting." He was dismissive, and only barely polite.

"Thank you, sir."

As I rode in silence back to my apartment (I hoped – it wasn't like I could tell where we were or where we were going), I had to compare the meetings from today and from the night before. Colonel McCarty was only barely polite, showing no sign of whether he thought I was capable of performing the job in question. He offered me nothing, gave me every chance to back out, and even told me I should drop patients if I took the job. He was apparently under no obligation to make this assignment look attractive. Mystery Man started off by breaking into my apartment and scaring the crap out of me, followed up by demanding I take the job, but offered me everything I wanted and more. _If it's too good to be true, it probably is._

At the moment, neither Colonel McCarty nor Mystery Man had done much to earn my trust. I had to admit that Colonel McCarty appeared to be following some type of protocol; the request to attend the interview had come from a legitimate office and was signed by an actual human. One point for the colonel.

I supposed the worst part about my day was that I had learned almost nothing beyond what I had known before. Mystery Man wanted me to have this job and to pass information about it. I still didn't know what the job was or who to trust.

When I arrived at the Pentagon, I was still lost in thought. It was just after lunchtime, and I was able to sit quietly in my office eating a sandwich and reviewing some data I had requested on demographics of soldiers making visits to the VA system within 12 months of returning from combat. The numbers swam in front of me, and I was unable to stop myself from checking the patient file for F. Conner. It still held a single sheet of letterhead, and I felt reassured somehow.

I shook my head in disgust as I closed my file drawer, and I decided a cup of coffee would help distract me.

"Mail's in, Major Swan." Angela handed me a stack which was thankfully devoid of anything remotely confidential.

"Thanks. Are Mike and Tyler still at lunch?"

"They should be back any moment now," she replied as I tossed my mail on my desk. I came back out into the common area, and poured myself a cup.

"There she is!" called Mike as he came in the door, closely followed by Tyler. "Where were you this morning, at your lake?"

"My lake?"

"You know, Swan Lake?" he replied, clearly pleased with himself.

I felt my mouth drop open in disbelief. Was anyone really this cheesy?

"Yeah, sure. I had one of your figs there." I looked at Angela, who rolled her eyes in amused disgust.

"Now you've done it, Major Swan. You've played his game, and he'll never stop now." Tyler was clearly humored by the interchange.

"Okay, I'm going back to work," I announced, shaking my head.

I made it through a few more pages of dense statistics when Mike poked his head into my door.

"Seriously, Swan-ee River, what's up with the morning?" Mike had a look of innocent curiosity, but a chill went through me. Was he involved?

"I had an appointment I couldn't break," I answered, relatively honestly. I tried to let him know through my expression that I considered the matter closed.

"You know I'm here for you if you need to talk, right?" His face was very sincere.

"Of course, Major Newton." His face fell a little at my formal response, but he didn't walk away. "Um, was there something else?"

"No, I guess not." He gave me a weak smile and walked out.

At the end of the day, I headed for the Metro stop with Angela; I couldn't afford to work late on the nights I had to drive back to Hampton. We boarded together and shared one of the hard plastic seats. I had to switch lines downtown, but Angela followed the line all the way to the last stop and then drove further out.

"So, did he ask you?" asked Angela quietly.

"Did who ask me what?" I asked in surprise.

"Major Newton. He announced to everyone that he was taking you out for dinner tonight."

"What? Oh, no. No, no, no. Crap. I guess I shot him down without knowing. And yet, what a painless way for me to go." I grimaced in embarrassment, relief, and a little guilt.

Angela giggled. "Major Crowley and I told him not to do it. You haven't encouraged him even one time."

"No, not even once." I winced. "Maybe he'll get over it this weekend." I looked forward even more to leaving DC for the weekend, seeing my patients, and living what had been my normal life up until two weeks before. Even the prospect of seeing my annoying roommate Jessica was pleasant.

* * *

I watched the psychologist chick walk down the hall with Henry escorting her. She wasn't bad looking, but her file told a story of a true career woman. No turns to the right or left, no people distracting her from the goal. I shut the door to the interview room and pulled the next file. I had two more interviews with the crazy docs, and then I could go back to dealing with reality. I shook my head in disgust. I just _had_ to volunteer for this assignment.

My in-ear speaker tickled as a voice crackled through. The sound was still off, even after all the fiddling we had done with the electronics. "Yes, you did have to volunteer for this assignment. She's got to be the plant."

_You don't know that._

"You saw her file. She got the right security clearance one week ago. She got put in the Pentagon one week ago."

_Someone's got to be the newest kid on the block._ The thought brought a tune to mind.

"There's more than just the security clearance. And please don't spout bad lyrics to worse tunes in your head. For my sanity."

_You're just freaked because you didn't get a read on her._

"I am not freaked."

_You are a paranoid freak. All I saw was a workaholic career chick._

"She's perfect for recruiting. No friends, hardly any family, and a true idealist. She's the plant. God only knows what they offered her."

_May I remind you that we don't even know if there is a plant or even a "they." This could all be legit. Psych evals for secret military units are actually a damn good idea. You're all psycho. And I mean that in the nicest way._

"May I remind _you_ that you came out of this same unit?"

_Exactly my point._ Even I had to snicker at that joke.

"They're about to page you, Colonel."

_You know, using my rank as a sarcastic comment will not earn you any brownie points. Are you going AWOL to check her out?_

"I'm military through and through. Don't ask; don't tell."

**AN/2: This may not work because ff strips urls in (to me) an unpredictable way, but the background information on women in combat situations came primarily from here:**

**www (dot) nytimes (dot) com / 2009/08/16/us/ 16women (dot) html**

**The article is pretty powerful.**

**I didn't mean to do multiple POVs; I thought that if this was going to be twilight-y, I should stick to Bella. My story had other ideas. I'll try always to mark them with the horizontal line.**


	3. Distraught

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Thank you edward-bella-harry-ginny for your beta skills! Your advice is invaluable, as always!**

**I continue to be awed by the response to this. Thank you, reviewers! **

Chapter 3. Distraught

I packed my uniform pieces into my garment bag and hung it on the back of my bedroom door, and then went into the bathroom to pack my toiletries. I left most of my toiletries packed now – my LLBean toiletry bag made it feasible to just leave it put together all the time. I grabbed a few things out of my shower, and tossed it into the bag, zipping everything shut. I took the toiletries and walked out to the bedroom to grab my garment bag. I hauled it all out to the living room and started to toss everything on the armchair when I noticed red blotches on the garment bag. I turned my hand over and saw I had managed to slice open my palm – it must have been the razor from the shower because I never even felt the cut. As I walked back to the bathroom to grab the bactine and a bandaid, I realized I had left blood drops every few feet through the entire apartment. Perfect. Thank goodness I didn't have carpet! The cheap laminate flooring would be fine for the weekend since I needed to get on the road immediately.

I did a quick sweep of the apartment, checking that the lights were off. I poured a little bleach in the toilet and then shut the bedroom and bathroom windows. Slinging my bags over my shoulder, I took the stairs down three flights to the underground garage where my red mini coop with the white racing stripe awaited me.

My dad had bought me an old red pickup when I was in high school, and it had been my pal all through my college years as well. It had been a sickly, unreliable pal, but a pal nonetheless. It had been a hard moment when it had finally died, but as an adult who required highly reliable transportation, I was glad to have the mini. The color was a tribute to my old pal, now living in Chevy heaven. In all other respects – size, speed, gas mileage, environmental impact, and efficiency – they were polar opposites. I put my cell phone on the passenger seat, plugged in my iPod nano (blue), and settled in for the three hour drive.

As I drove down the freeway, I wondered about the choices I faced. My original take had been that I was faced with a Faustian bargain – everything I desired to accomplish in life in exchange for my dishonesty. Nothing had changed my mind about Mystery Man; I had a hard time believing anyone would offer me so much just for doing the right thing. I had to believe that if it was the right thing, I would do it regardless of the bribe. And then the papers I had signed just to attend the interview suggested even mentioning the interview to someone else would lead to a court martial. Clearly whatever job I was being considered for was of the highest sensitivity.

What could this job be? My first guess about the job was that someone involved in highly classified activities needed counseling. It was almost impossible to counsel someone with PTSD issues without discussing the events themselves. If the events were highly classified operations, that would leave the military few choices regarding counseling. My second guess was that there was some intelligence about a military target, and they needed someone to analyze the target's mental state. That seemed less likely. I was pretty sure there were people who did that as a job, although I would have pegged the CIA for that kind of analysis.

I let out a loud noise, somewhere between a growl and sigh. I was not going to think about this ridiculous situation for one more minute of this drive! There were patients to see tomorrow, and I needed my head in the game. I needed a good dose of reality. I scrolled my iPod to the loudest, most mind-numbing playlist I had, specifically constructed for moments like these. I was developing a secret enjoyment of punk and ska bands. I had been a fan of pop until recently. For some reason, the harsher lyrics and music was really connecting with how I was feeling about life.

It was nearly nine when I pulled into my assigned parking place at the Hampton apartment. Jessica's car was in her spot, so I guessed the boyfriend of the month was now history. I sighed. This could be good – Jessica could be really fun when she was paying attention to something other than the next ex-boyfriend – but if the pain was too new, it could be a night of sour cream and onion potato chips followed by the gallon tub of generic vanilla ice cream.

Opening the front door, I saw a trail of crumpled Kleenex forming a path from the couch to the bathroom. I winced. It was going to be ugly. Jessica walked out of the kitchen wearing sweats and holding a giant bag of potato chips, and I was immediately relieved that I'd skipped dinner. I hurriedly hung up my garment bag.

"What happened, Jess?" I gave her the once-over. Her eyes were red, her nose was red, her hair was up in a giant plastic clip, and her lower lip was trembling.

"It was, you know, Ryan…" the end of Ryan's name disappeared into a wail ending in a sob followed by several unintelligible syllables.

"Come here," I told her, sitting down and patting the cushion on the couch next to me. Jess collapsed onto the seat and fell into my shoulder.. I rocked her for a while. I'd never had a bad break-up since I'd never really been in a committed relationship, at least not on my part. I had seen my mom like this more than once through my early teens, though, and I knew it was painful. "Maybe a movie?"

"You know I'll just cry more," hiccupped Jessica.

"I know. But it's a tradition now," I reassured her.

"Okay." Jessica sniffled.

"Sleepless in Seattle?" It was the only one Jessica ever watched after a breakup, apparently a tradition going all the way back to high school. When she nodded, I got up, arranged blankets, chips (in a bowl), drinks, and Kleenex, and then popped the dvd in.

When the movie ended, Jessica sighed.

"A little better?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," said Jessica firmly. I waited. I knew there was no way she was going to stop there. "He was just so nice at first. I thought we had such a great time last night, and then…" The crying started again, and I held her for a few more minutes, and then I broke out the hard stuff – Rocky Road ice cream.

It was a little after one in the morning when I finally settled into bed, feeling slightly nauseous from the horrible junk food we'd eaten all evening. I'd done the breakup routine with Jessica at least five times since we started rooming, and I wondered if I was going to have to have an intervention with her. We'd met two years earlier at the VA where she worked as an administrator in the business office. Jessica really was a great roommate; she didn't demand much, and she was a borderline neat freak (dirty Kleenex trails notwithstanding). I really wasn't sure how someone so put together at work and with most of life could be such a flake with men. Maybe she'd be a better person when she got married and stopped wasting so much energy trying to get together with someone. Unfortunately, desperation was rarely attractive.

"I should hook her up with Mike," I thought with a giggle, but I immediately felt bad for picking on the distraught nympho. I giggled again. Still picking. I snuggled into the sheets and tried to get some sleep before my full day.

The next day, I followed my usual Friday routine. I saw all my usual Friday patients. Jack was in mandatory counseling after his third incident at work; he was having serious anger management issues after the sudden death of his son. Sam had tried to save one of his closest friends after getting caught in crossfire in Iraq, but had to watch him bleed out as they were pinned down by the gunfire. Daniel had been captured by insurgents but rescued soon after by his team. As I organized my office at the end of the day, I had the definite sense that most of my patients were making progress. Only Jack was stubbornly refusing to consider cooperating. I wasn't sure how to approach him yet.

A knock on the door shook me out of my thoughts.

"Knock, knock!" sang out a familiar voice.

"Who's there?" I asked in a monotone, not looking up from my files.

"Orange!"

"Orange who?"

"Orange you glad it's not another Swan joke?" Mike sauntered through the door, a goofy grin on his face. He was in scrubs; he wasn't in Hampton as regularly as I was since his orthopedic work had him moving among three different facilities, but he was around about every other week.

"Fancy seeing you here, Major Swan."

"Hi, Mike. What's up?" I cringed internally. I liked Mike. He was a great colleague. He just wasn't for me.

"I thought I could interest you in lunch tomorrow in Newport News? And maybe a walk in one of the parks on the waterfront?"

I wondered what it meant that Mike had actually come up with something fun, and I suspected Angela of helping him out. I was going to find a way to get her back.

"That actually sounds fun, Mike, but I have a problem. My roommate is really having a bad weekend, and I don't want to leave her." This was completely the truth.

"Oh, sure. What's her name?"

"Jessica."

"Right, I remember now. She does the insurance stuff. Would you like to bring her along? It's just a chance to get out and have some fun. No pressure or anything."

Maybe my idea last night wasn't so crazy. Mike and Jessica were perfect for each other.

"I'll have to call you later." I cringed internally again. Calling him after hours was, I suspected, one step away from an engagement in Mike's eyes. "It might take me a while to convince Jessica to go out."

"Okay. I'll be waiting!" Mike gave me his boyish grin and left my office.

When I broached the topic at dinner that night, I was surprised that Jessica immediately agreed to go out for lunch and to the park. With a little further thought, I was no longer surprised. I had let her know that there was going to be a guy at lunch, one that I was _not_ dating, and that he was a doctor.

In the morning, I discovered that getting ready for a casual lunch suddenly seemed of the utmost importance. I needed Jessica to shine like a star going supernova, and I wanted to be the dwarf planet that got swallowed in the fiery blaze. Mike wasn't going to know what hit him.

"Why do you want me to wear this again?" asked Jessica, looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. She was wearing skinny jeans and a low cut dark blue top with a flare at the waist. There was a tie which went just under her bust, making her the picture of femininity. We had fought her hair with the flat iron and silicone-infused hair products, and it looked sleek, showing off its natural blonde highlights. She had that dirty blonde look which could, in the right circumstances, really enhance her elfin face and blue eyes.

"We're teaching Ryan a lesson," I told her. I handed her the mascara. It wasn't a lie, exactly. I was doing this as much for Jess and her shattered psyche as I was for myself. From experience I knew she would put herself back together in a week or two, but I was confident now was as good as next week.

"He's not going to be there," Jess responded, rolling her eyes. Her lip quivered, a little, but she recovered.

"Ah, but he could be there. You'll have to imagine that part. At every moment while you dazzle the surrounding men, just tell yourself about all the wonderfulness of you that Ryan is missing out on." She really did look good.

"What are you wearing, Bella?"

"Um, I was thinking I'd just go like this." I had on a grey hoodie, faded jeans, and an old pair of trainers. I'd actually taken them out on a dirt bike trail with Phil and Renee (long story – fad over, thank heavens) and had never gotten them cleaned up. My hair was up in a pony tail, and I had no makeup on. Just call me Pluto.

"You're dressing me up like this, and you're wearing that?" Jessica eyed me dubiously.

"Sure. All part of the plan." I gave her my happiest smile.

Mike had us meet him at a Dairy Queen to get takeout. It was a little weird but we went with it.

"Don't get any desserts," he told us seriously. "We can do that on the way back."

We drove a few blocks to Riverview Farm Park, and picnicked on a sheltered bench. The day was sunny and warm, but the humidity was low, so it was pleasant. Mike was his usual goofy self, and I was relieved that he was including Jessica in his jokes. All his jokes to her were about insurance salesmen, and she was enjoying every one. Her laughter was nice to hear after all the sobbing from Thursday night. Mike's satisfaction at getting her to laugh was enough to get me to laugh as well.

When lunch was finished, Mike had us stroll over to the dog park.

"I can't have a dog since I'm on the road so much," he told us. "This is how I get my dog fix. I hate pet stores."

"You could volunteer at a shelter," suggested Jessica.

"That sounds like a great idea! I wonder why I never thought of that." He looked in amusement at a Chihuahua barking shrilly at a Dalmatian.

"It's the little ones who are always the most ferocious," I commented. My experience with dogs was limited to being nipped at by the evil dachshunds that lived next door to Renee when I was small.

"Maybe we could volunteer together," Mike suggested to Jessica. "Do you know anything about dogs?"

I found myself vitally interested in an informational board about thirty yards from where we stood together, and I wandered away from them surreptitiously. About twenty minutes later, Mike and Jessica rejoined me, laughing at some comment Mike had made about an Afghan and a Poodle.

We did go back to the Dairy Queen, and I indulged in a chocolate dip cone while Mike and Jessica shared a banana split. I was all warm inside, seeing the budding romance I had instigated. I just hoped Mike was a better man than Ryan. Or David. Or Jackson. Or Avery. Or…oops, couldn't remember his name, the one with the little goatee.

Sunday was a blessed day of rest. I was only on-call at the VA every other weekend, and this was my weekend off. I read the newspaper in my pajamas while sipping coffee and eating grapefruit sections and a bagel. Jessica woke up very late, looking drained.

"Do you think he likes me, Bella?"

"He looked like he liked you," I answered absently. Miss Manners had my nearly complete attention. Who were these people who thought it was okay not to invite half their close relatives to the wedding? Miss Manners was giving them a very genteel tongue-lashing.

"I think he was just being polite," she whined. My Kleenex radar went off immediately, and I glanced around desperately for a box.

"I don't know if I can handle another letdown so soon," she sniffled as she pulled a coffee mug out of the cupboard.

"No, Jess, I think he really meant it. Mike is a nice guy; I've known him for several years. He's solid." I ran to the living room and grabbed the tissue box.

"If he's so great, why don't you like him?"

"We work together, Jess. It's not like that." His puppy dog loyalty and weird humor annoyed me, but I didn't have to mention that part.

The rest of the afternoon went the same way; Jess poured out her insecurities and I tried to alleviate them while I finished the paper. Thankfully, Mike called her around 4 p.m. to talk about the animal shelter, and Jess was finally happy.

The drive back to DC Monday evening was a welcome interlude of solitude. I felt a little guilty that I was weary of Jess's rapid mood swings, but I needed to get away. Work had been its usual mix of small crises, minor annoyances, and occasional fulfilling moments. My iPod was playing my moody playlist, a mixture of Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Buckley, and random songs that were simultaneously soothing and melancholy. Apparently, I needed to think. Cruise control was set for 5 miles above the speed limit. Charlie would have disapproved, but I was barely keeping up with the flow of traffic.

The weekend had been a welcome return to normalcy. Mike, Jess, my patients, the Hampton area, and the VA were all parts of my life which predated the oddities which had arisen since I had started at the Pentagon. I hadn't thought much this weekend about the choices facing me, at least not consciously. I realized I had made a choice, though. I liked my life. I was doing important work, both in the clinical setting and at the Pentagon. I did not need the complications of a high security side project. Mystery Man could crawl back into whatever hole he had come from.

My conscious acceptance of my decision released a band of tension in my chest that I hadn't even realized was there. I felt confident this was the right decision for me, for this time in my life. I had only had my new position for a bit over a week. This was no time to get mixed up with the insanity which lay between Colonel McCarty and Mystery Man. A little voice told me that I would always wonder what this had all been about, but I reminded myself that I was already doing exactly what I wanted to do.

I grabbed the iPod and switched it to my nineties dance club mix. It was upbeat and it was mindless, and it was perfect for my mood. I danced in my seat, banging on the steering wheel, and rejoicing that I finally had a plan of action. I decided to celebrate with soup and salad at a Panera about an hour from home. It was after 7 pm, and I was decidedly hungry. I had known when I took the Pentagon job that the commute was going to be tiring. I was still excited about the work, so it wasn't a drain yet. I was going to have to find ways to make it worth my while to do so much driving. I wore my iPod into the restaurant, lugging my laptop as well. I might as well check my personal email – my mother Renee usually sent me a note on Mondays.

I settled into a booth and popped my laptop open. I took a bite of Greek salad and discovered that Renee had indeed written me. I sighed. She was absolutely gaga over her new yoga instructor, and I was thankful that her husband grounded her for the most part. She raved about a new restaurant that served only raw foods, and I felt a little bad for Phil. He was a meat and potatoes kind of guy, but thankfully an adventurous one. It looked like he was going to be a bulghur wheat and potatoes kind of guy for the next few weeks. I knew they rarely ate at home; taking Renee out to dinner was one of Phil's survival mechanisms. She didn't cook; therefore they still had a house which had not been burnt to the foundation. Unfortunately, it looked like her new fad meant he was eating food as inedible as the stuff she used to make on her own.

I ate the rest of my French onion soup while I perused a week's worth of Reneeisms. I typed up a few responses for her, and then informed her about my weekend with Jess. I rarely if ever mentioned my work to her. We had had many an epic argument over my being in the military. She was a hippie displaced in time. If I had brought up the position at the Pentagon, she wouldn't have been able to leave it alone. Phil was much more sympathetic, but he essentially let Renee do whatever she liked. He cleaned up her messes, but he would never censure her behavior. Christmas was only three months away, and I would answer any question she brought up then. I sighed again, and noticed the people at the table next to me were giving me concerned looks. I smiled at them in apology and packed up my stuff.

When I finally got back to my apartment building, it was just after nine. I could tell I had about another half hour of activity left in me, so I was going to have to move quickly to get myself unpacked and into bed before I collapsed. I parked in my usual slot in the parking garage, and hauled my stuff back up the stairs. I stopped in the lobby to get my mail. I fumbled with all my bags as I pulled out my mailbox key. Since I hadn't picked up the mail Friday afternoon, I had three days built up. It made quite a wad of credit card companies' attempts to end all plant life on the planet. Finally, I was in my apartment. I dumped all the mail on the dining table and my garment bag on the chair.

I flipped through the junk mail, hopeful that some piece of mail had arrived from a human being I had a relationship with. Halfway through the stack, I found an envelope marked "confidential." It had no return address, no address but my name, and no stamp. I was getting pretty sick of people violating my privacy. How had these people gotten into my locked mailbox? I had a feeling the envelope was either a rejection from Colonel McCarty or an invitation to join his merry band.

It was another official letter from the Director of Special Forces. I was being extended an offer, and if I accepted it, I should meet the car at 8 a.m. Wednesday morning outside my apartment. Details would be given after I agreed to the job. My mind had already been made up. There was no way I was playing their game again. When eight rolled around Wednesday morning, I would be in my office at the Pentagon. I crumpled up the letter in disgust and hurled it at the back wall of the living room. I already had everything I had wanted in my life. I tried to remember back to last week when I had been ecstatic to be where I was. I knew it wasn't Colonel McCarty's fault that he had disrupted what should be the best year of my life, but I was irrationally angry with him and his cloak and dagger operation.

I flipped through the rest of the junk mail and ended up throwing all of it away. I hadn't even gotten a real bill. It was all crap. I shook my head and yawned. Definitely time to get ready for bed. I dragged my garment bag down the hall to the bedroom. I opened the bedroom door, surprised that it was closed. I didn't usually close it unless I was in the bedroom, and I didn't remember closing it on my way out of the apartment. I flipped on the light and my jaw dropped along with the garment bag. I tried to process what I was seeing, and felt overwhelmed by a combination of outrage, horror, and fear. An adrenaline surge wiped out the lethargy I had felt only moments before, and I felt like I was going to be sick.

There was nothing left of my bed but scraps of wood, shredded fabric, and a blizzard of feathers.

**AN2: Still with me? **

**There are two awards sites open for voting at the moment: The Sparkle Awards (thesparkleawards dot webs dot com) and The Moonlight Awards (themoonlightawards dot yolasite dot com). The Cold War (by me) has been nominated on both sites, and Masen and Swan: In the Windy City (by me and ebhg) is up for best collaboration at The Moonlight Awards. Stories from Justine Lark, edward-bella-harry-ginny, and EliseShaw are also nominated. If you haven't read those yet, they're fantastic. Voting is on October 14****– 24 for Moonlight and on October 16 – November 8 for Sparkle. I encourage participation because it encourages the authors!**


	4. Consultant

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Happy Thanksgiving week! I've got to thank edward-bella-harry-ginny because she helped me so much and so frequently on this chapter. We sent more than 50 emails back and forth!**

_I flipped on the light and my jaw dropped along with the garment bag. I tried to process what I was seeing, and felt overwhelmed by a combination of outrage, horror, and fear. An adrenaline surge wiped out the lethargy I had felt only moments before, and I felt like I was going to be sick._

_There was nothing left of my bed but scraps of wood, shredded fabric, and a blizzard of feathers._

Chapter 4. Consultant

At precisely 0800 Wednesday I sat in the backseat of the car sent to bring me to Cloak and Dagger Army HQ, trying to keep my mad on. When I sat face to face with Colonel McCarty, I wanted to have every bit of anger I had built up over the past 36 hours to rip him a new one. Several new ones, if I was lucky.

Monday night, after discovering that my apartment had been broken into and my personal property destroyed with no signs of a break-in, I had (after calming down from a 20 minute hysterical breakdown) assumed it was coercion to take the consultant position from Mystery Man. I had escaped to Angela's apartment, telling her I had a broken pipe which had flooded my place. My assumption that it was Mystery Man lasted all the way until 0900 Tuesday when I found a single rose on my desk and a note of congratulations on my new position. That's when I realized the rose and the note left for me in a secure Pentagon office was Mystery Man style; destroyed bedding not so much.

I had left work at the Pentagon early on Tuesday, planning to spend the afternoon cleaning my bedroom and the evening looking for a new bed. With nondisclosure agreements signed and "confidential" notices littering my life, I was becoming paranoid. I had no idea who to trust. Even Mike was setting off my red alerts; he was overly interested in why I was leaving work early and why I had cleared my Wednesday morning schedule.

I had picked up a package of hefty trashbags on the way home and had resigned myself to several hours of hauling crap, but when I entered my bedroom it was like nothing had happened. I stood at the door to my room blinking. My bed was back.

Only, it wasn't my bed. My bed had been new and cheap, but the bedding was an old sheet set and comforter from my place in Hampton. The bedding on this bed was extremely similar, but it was all brand-spanking new. The hair had stood up on my arms for at least ten minutes while I breathed into a paper bag. And my theory that Mystery Man would not destroy my bed had been replaced with the theory that I had no clue who was doing anything to me in what was formerly a very pleasant, orderly, and productive life.

I didn't bother to watch out the darkened windows of the towncar and instead kept repeating to myself "three times. My apartment has been violated three times. Three times."

Once again, I was let out in the empty parking garage level. I took the elevator down to level 8 and was again greeted by the same young, freshly-scrubbed sergeant. He did his security checks and escorted me down the hall, but this time we ended in an office about a third of the way down.

The bleak-looking concrete block office was Colonel McCarty's. He sat behind a massive green metal desk with a sleek computer system; it seemed out of place in the barren institutional environment. A steaming cup of Starbuck's coffee sat in front of him on his nearly empty desk, the plastic lid set to the side.

"Major Swan, I'm so pleased you accepted the assignment." He didn't rise to greet me, but his eyes bore into me. I remained standing.

"Colonel McCarty. I am here to have a word with you in the only way available to me. Ever since receiving your little invitation, I have been harassed repeatedly and my apartment has been broken into no less than three times. I don't know what the assignment is, I don't know who you people are, but I want NO part of this. I respectfully request that the harassment and the break-ins come to a stop. Forget you ever heard of me."

It was a prepared speech, and not really as eloquent as I would have liked, but it did relieve some of the rage I had built up. If it weren't so unprofessional, I would have tossed his coffee in his face. Or his lap. During my rant, his eyebrows had risen, but he otherwise gave no sign of disturbance.

"Is that all?" He appeared slightly amused. Maybe the coffee wasn't such a stretch.

"If you would be so kind as to call back the sergeant, I would like to go home and continue with my life. Sir."

I watched as a muscle twitched in his jaw. "I'm sorry, Major Swan. I believe you've signed a transfer agreement. I've already had your patients in Hampton reassigned. We'll try not to interfere with your important work at the Pentagon, but as of 0803, you were assigned to me. Welcome to my unit."

There were no words, but I did have a few high-pitched noises. They sort of sounded like "Guh...buh…wha…" Yes, I have a Ph.D.

"Next time you sign a legal document offered by your employer, especially when said employer is the U.S. Army, you should be a little more cautious." He gave me a level look, and then spoke into his headset. "Major Heinz, please come to my office." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm a little curious as to why you would blame me for any harassing or break-ins."

"Oh, perhaps it's the way my job offer was delivered into a locked U.S. mailbox with no stamps, postmark or return address. Sir." I was clenching and unclenching my fists. How had I walked into this? I just had to have the last word, step into that vehicle, and sign the pack of papers they had given me. Honestly, I hadn't paid any attention to what was in the packet.

"That's one point for you," he conceded. "_Three_ times, huh? That's extreme for only living in your place for two weeks."

I gave him a vitriolic look. If he was my new CO, I was probably on the brink of insubordination. It was tempting to just quit altogether. Unfortunately, my ultimate boss, Uncle Sam, was not the type to take a 2-week notice. I still had over three years left of service just to pay for my schooling. I hoped I wasn't turning lobster red, because I was hot. Meanwhile, my new immediate CO didn't appear to waste sympathy on stupidity or naiveté.

"Let me discuss the assignment with you. First of all, the nondisclosure agreement continues to be in effect. Technically, it isn't necessary given your security clearance and the fact that this is a top secret military installation, but some legal department hack job makes us do it anyway." He sighed. "This unit was created as a joint operation between special forces and military intelligence, a fact which makes my life a living hell, but that's not your concern. There are nine members, besides you, all elite fighters or possessing other diverse assets. We are invisible in the command structure and our work remains undocumented for a large variety of reasons. Officially, we are attached to this top secret DARPA research facility. It's just a way of hiding our budget."

"What does your team do?" I asked grudgingly. I was intrigued in spite of myself.

"We do whatever we're asked. At this time, I have a 100% mission success ratio. We find people, we rescue people, and we get rid of people. Occasionally, we do information gathering, but we're not often called out for such trivial missions."

"The United States government does not assassinate people," I said weakly.

"Exactly." He gave me a mirthless smile which did not reach his eyes. "Which brings me to your position in the unit. We've been required by someone higher up in the command structure to undergo psych evaluations."

"Who?" I couldn't help myself.

"We're not exactly sure. It wasn't my boss; he made that clear. In any case, the members of this team have been through a lot. There are concerns that some members could lose touch with reality and become liabilities. I'm required to show that an outside source agrees that the team is safe to continue its work."

"Do you have files on the missions and the team members?"

"Actually, no. Everything, and I mean everything, is undocumented."

"But, this is the army! Everything is documented."

"One of the first things I learned about this unit is that we are the dirtiest little secret there is. No documentation means complete deniability from the government and the army. We can be termed a rogue unit and prosecuted by whatever means necessary. It's an unlikely scenario, given how careful we are and how successful we've been. Think of it as just one more on-the-job challenge." His demeanor was serious, intimidating even, and I sensed he had a quiet frustration about impossible success rates and the total lack of recognition for his work.

"It's going to be difficult to meet and analyze so many people with no notes or background information." I watched his response intently.

"I never said this would be easy." He had a hint of a smile. "In fact, there are several team members who are likely to be uncooperative."

"Heinz! Enter!" The barked order took me by surprise, and I started. The door opened behind me, and a man probably about my own age or slightly older entered. He was dressed in fatigues, and he wore a headset as well. Unlike Colonel McCarty, he did not have a regulation haircut. He didn't glance at me, but saluted the colonel.

"Sir."

"I need you to meet with Major Swan, and then introduce her to the team."

"The entire team, sir?"

"I'll deal with the asset when you're done."

"Yes, sir." He finally turned to look at me. He was about six foot, with dark brown hair and eyes, and a hard look to his face. He was intimidating, the way being in the room with an angry german shepherd would be intimidating. "To my office, then." He turned on his heel, and I had no choice but to follow.

The office was only two doors down from Col. McCarty's; it was also on the left side of the hallway if you were facing away from the elevator. I wondered where the stairs were, given I was possibly 8 stories underground.

"Have a seat, please." He gestured towards the only chair besides his own, an armless chair with a gray metal frame and a green padded seat. Army surplus from the fifties? Like Col. McCarty, his desk was green metal, large, and held a computer and a phone. I supposed that if you never documented anything, the paperwork wouldn't build up on your desk.

I examined Major Heinz for a moment, and he was clearly doing the same with me. I began to doubt whether my uniform was entirely clean after a moment. His demeanor was reminiscent of a patient of mine. Correction, former patient. Jack was a hard man, broken only by the loss of his son.

"Do you have a family, Major Heinz?"

"Is that how you begin all your evaluations?"

"Do you answer every question with a question?" I realized I was taking out my anger about my accidental transfer on the major.

He regarded me with a look of annoyance. "Let's try a different track," I suggested in a slightly more conciliatory tone. "Have you read my file? I assume _my_ documentation hasn't disappeared yet."

"Yes, I've read it."

"So you know why I was chosen for this job."

"Yes. That doesn't mean I approve of the decision."

"Of course. Unfortunately for both of us, your approval was unnecessary. Perhaps you could just give me a sketch of your role on this team." Okay, so not as conciliatory as I should be.

"Col. McCarty is our CO. I'm the field command. I have eight years of experience on the team, and I've been field command for the past two years."

"Col. McCarty tells me the team has a 100% success rate. That's an amazing record."

"Yes. The team is excellent, unparalleled even." I could sense the pride. Was there frustration as well?

"If all the work is undocumented, how do you issue promotions and commendations?"

"Fake paperwork. The promotions and commendations are real, but the documents to back it up are all lies. That's Col. McCarty's responsibility."

"Can you tell me about a recent mission?"

"We all have an agreement. Once we've debriefed here at the base, there are no more discussions of a mission." I gritted my teeth. They had just made a difficult job near impossible.

"Do you lose many men?"

"We have a high mortality rate," he admitted. "It can wear you down. If we're assigned a mission, that's an indication that someone has decided it's either a suicide mission or impossible, something you would never agree to send a team to do. Everyone on the team is aware of the risks."

"The others lose friends and comrades, but you would be losing a man under your command. The response can be very different." I watched his stoic features.

"I know what you're trying to do here. I've mourned every loss as it's happened, but my conscience is clear. We serve this nation in a way no one else can. Each mission is carefully planned and even more carefully executed, but the unknown is always a factor. Our mission debriefings have always shown that the casualties have been from forces outside our control. This team is solid."

I nodded. "I appreciate your candor. It can't be easy to have someone come in to second-guess your work."

"I believe it is time for you to meet the rest of the team." He stood and motioned towards the door. I stepped into the hallway, and he led me to a stairwell at the opposite end of the hall from the elevator.

"Do you know the time, major?" I asked. Without my cell phone, I was lost.

"It's 0930," he answered without looking at me.

"Thank you. I'm expected at the Pentagon at 1330."

"That shouldn't be a problem." He still didn't turn his head. I wasn't sure if I classified Major Heinz as uncooperative. Perhaps coldly professional was more realistic. It was fine with me; I hadn't joined the team to get friendly with anyone. Yes, in fact, I hadn't really purposely joined the team at all. I was fuming again, partly with my own stupidity, partly with the situation, and a whole lot with high-handed colonels.

Two flights down, and we were at the bottom of the stairs. We passed through a set of double doors, and I found we had entered the mess. There were four long tables with benches, and seven people in fatigues seated in various spots, some with newspapers, some with coffee cups. They all appeared at their ease.

One very attractive blonde man approached. "Rodney. Lt. Rodney Jones. Very nice to meet you. You must be the famous Major Swan." His hand was warm and dry, and his smile was very charming. "I'm considered the front-man for the team. My specialty is negotiation, among other things."

"Cut the crap, lieutenant. Major Swan is not a mission." Major Heinz was not impressed with Lt. Jones.

"Hey, I can't turn it off. That's what makes me so lethal." His eyes twinkled, and I found myself charmed in spite of myself.

"Team!" barked Major Heinz. "Today's activity with Major Swan is a meet and greet only. We'll be on a thirty minute schedule in her office starting at 0830 Friday morning. Plan on complete honesty, she's on the team for the foreseeable future." Every eye was on me, measuring. It felt as intimidating as my thesis defense, but I maintained posture and level eye contact as I surveyed the room.

"Let me introduce her to the quadruple knockout," urged Lt. Jones. Heinz merely nodded, and departed from the mess.

"I'll bite," I said, shrugging off my less than happy welcome. "What's the quadruple knockout?"

"Brock, Jack, Rick and Franc. They all end in the "k" sound, right?"

"Sounds more like four strikeouts to me. I think a knockout is a KO." Thanks to Charlie, I was pretty good at sports jargon.

"Not bad, major." Lt. Jones led me to a table with three men and a blonde woman. They were all very physically fit. One of the men was Asian, the other two were both brown-haired and average-looking, although one was sandy brown and the other was a darker shade.

"Let me introduce the four K's: Lt. Ivan Brock." The sandy-haired man waved. "Lt. Jack Solomon." The darker brown-haired man waved. "Lt. Rick Goldstein." The Asian man looked up and nodded, then returned to his perusal of the Post. "And the jewel in the crown…"

"Shut it, Rodney." The blonde woman stood to shake my hand.

"Call me Franky. Full name is Lt. Valentina Franc, but as you might imagine, I prefer Franky." She was about five eight, not as skinny as a model, but in my opinion fully capable as masquerading as one. She was more muscular than a model, though. She wore an olive-drab tank which was tucked into camo pants.

"I can sympathize. I'm Major Isabella Swan. I can't even use the last name to escape."

"So, these are the four K's. They're the elite fighter core to the group." Rodney beamed at the group, almost like a proud father.

"Rodney. Shut. It." Franky gave Rodney a look which could have cut diamond. "Let me take over." Franky walked me to the second table, which had two more seated, an African-American woman and a bald man.

"Shannon." The two women slapped hands casually. "Major Swan, this is Lt. Shannon Truce, computers and communications expert."

"Nice to meet you, Major." She had a bit of a southern drawl to her voice.

"And I'm Mitch. Lt. Mitchel Hoone, explosives and mechanics." Mitch stood to shake my hand, and I found myself leaning back to see him. He was about six five, and very built. With his bald head, and intense blue eyes, I imagined he could scare just about anyone.

"I see you met Mr. Clean and our southern lady," commented Rodney, who joined us with a cup of coffee.

"I'm sorry, hon. Rodney suffers from an overdose of personality. We've been trying to cure him, lo these many years." Shannon rolled her eyes, but I sensed she was more pleased with him than she let on. I decided I would explore that later.

"All of you have the same rank," I commented.

"The team always has a chain of command, but all of us are highly trained professionals," said Franky. "And we always know Heinz is in command."

Thinking back to comments from the morning, I surveyed the room again. "Is someone missing?"

"Ah. Yes." Everyone looked a little uncomfortable, even Rodney. "There is one more member of the team. He doesn't usually come to the mess, though."

One of my eyebrows popped up a fraction, but I managed not to look like a landed fish. Somehow, between sports and fish, I was thinking of Charlie. At times like these, when I felt out of my depth, it would have been nice to talk with someone solid. I reminded myself that, even were he alive, I would be prevented from saying anything to him by the security requirements.

"May I ask who's been on the team the longest?" I actually wasn't sure if I could get an answer.

"Among those of us in the room, that would be me," offered Mr. Clean. Mitch. Mitchel Hoone. I was going to have to practice my mnemonics if I was going to get anywhere with these evaluations. "Nine years total in about a month."

"That's longer than Major Heinz," I commented, slightly unsure if my timeline was correct.

"Yes, Major. Just a bit." He nodded agreement, but went silent.

"I'm the most recent," volunteered Shannon. Shannon Truce, I repeated in my head. "Only thirteen months." I noticed that Rodney gave her a light punch on the shoulder, and she hip-checked him. Definitely something going on there.

"Commander on the floor," announced Rodney, and we all swiveled and saluted. Colonel McCarty returned salute, and we all stood down.

"Major Swan, with me," he said, his eyes sweeping the room quickly. He turned on his heel, and I followed. Apparently the meet and greet was over. He took me down a corridor on this bottom floor which I hadn't noticed when exiting the stairs earlier. There were locked doors along the right wall at regular intervals.

"These are the dormitories," he commented. "The team is assembled for extended periods here, so they all have rooms." We passed another set of double doors to the left. "This is the gym area," he commented, not slowing his brisk pace. We had passed over 20 dorm rooms, at least I supposed that's what all the doors on the right led to, when we finally reached a set of double doors ending the hallway. The colonel pulled out a swipe card and turned to face me.

"People under my command do not talk. They do not leak. When a mission debriefing ends, discussion of the mission ends. No one on the team knows about old missions or lost comrades from before their time. You may think we are paranoid, but you've heard the basis for having this unit. Now you're going to see the secret of our success. If your loyalty to the army and to this country means anything, you will never breathe a word of his existence to anyone, even if they know who he is. This area is secure for a reason, Major Swan."

I knew my eyes were wide with astonishment, disbelief, or maybe just plain fright, but I nodded.

Colonel McCarty swiped his card, and the double doors clicked open. I noticed there were cameras on the ceiling.

"Closed-circuit only, Major Swan. No records," he said, acknowledging the surveillance.

We entered a short hallway, and he swiped me into another room. It reminded me of the interrogation room from my interview, only the mirror was actually a window.

"He prefers to meet you here. There's an intercom connecting the rooms. I'll leave you to it, Major Swan." He exited the room, and left me alone. I observed the room opposite me through the window. It included a couch, a stereo system, and a piano. The wall around the stereo system, the right-hand wall to me, was covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves of vinyl LPs. The speakers were enormous, and there was a turntable. There were no signs of CDs. I stepped up to the window to peer at what I could see of the album titles. The ones that I could see were classical albums. The upright piano took up the left-hand wall, and the couch was set to face the speakers. I guessed that the angling of the speakers was designed to provide the best experience for someone seated on the couch. The back wall had a closed door on the right hand side.

I noticed music on the piano, and I stepped up to the left side of the window to see what the pieces were.

"Are you musical?" asked a smooth, velvety voice through the intercom. I whirled in surprise, and saw him for the first time.

I think because I was on sensory overload, I noted first the clothes he wore – the standard headset, olive drab short-sleeved t-shirt, black belt, camo pants, and black lace-up boots. He was tall, over six feet, and while not built like Mr. Clean, he was defined. Like the rest of the team, his hair was not regulation cut (it must be a spy thing?) and was a wild array which looked both untouched and artfully styled at once. My mind searched in futility for a name to describe his hair color – it wasn't red or brown, but some combination of the two. His flawless skin was a pale white. For some reason, I noticed the hand he had casually set on the door frame; his fingers (pianists' fingers) were long and graceful.

My perusal of his face began at the outside and worked its way in. I noted the strong jaw line which seemed to balance out his wild hair in a graceful symmetry. I didn't want to linger on thoughts of his lips; my usually professional thoughts were reaching an incendiary plateau. He had a straight and very shapely nose and gracefully arched, but slightly menacing eyebrows.

And his eyes were burning into me. I was uncertain about the passage of time; I became aware that my mouth was slightly open. I had come face to face with the most attractive man I had ever seen, and he was going to be my patient.

He cocked his head slightly, as if trying to understand me. It occurred to me that he had asked a question, and I hadn't responded yet. I was sure he thought I was an idiot, some plain woman in military uniform come to ogle him while checking his psychiatric condition.

"I'm sorry," I began, my voice coming out rather higher than normal. "You startled me. And the answer is 'no.' I'm not musical at all, although I enjoy listening."

At that point, I realized that his eyes were also an unusual color, somewhere between brown and yellow. I decided his eyes were a topaz, his hair a bronze. He was like a jeweled dagger; a beautiful weapon. I snorted internally at my atrocious poetry.

"I'm Major Isabella Swan. We haven't been introduced as yet?"

"Edward." I could tell the intercom was voice-activated, as a hiss came on whenever he spoke. The electronic noise was insufficient to dilute the quality of his voice; he was a smooth, mellow baritone.

"No surname or rank?"

"My current rank is major," he said, a slight smirk on his features. His eyes had not yet left my face, and I had a feeling I was going to start flushing from the intensity of his stare. "But no, no surname." So, he had the same rank as Heinz, but was under his command. It was at that point that I realized only Col. McCarty, Major Heinz, and Edward wore the headsets; perhaps it was a command issue.

"Can you describe your role on Colonel McCarty's team?" The stray thought that I would need no mnemonics to remember Edward passed randomly through my mind.

"I'm the assassin, Major Swan." Beautiful weapon indeed. His pose seemed to shift in my mind, no longer a man at casual rest, but a lion, waiting to spring.

"Why you?"

"Because I'm the dangerous one." I could feel the hairs lifting on the back of my neck, and it wasn't entirely fear. He was at once the most beautiful and the most powerful presence I had ever experienced.

I heard a compressor kick in, and felt a cool breeze from the overhead vent.

"Major Swan, these rooms are connected on the same ventilation system, and I recommend that you end our interview now." He hadn't moved, but I saw the muscles in his arms and legs tense. Suddenly his eyes darkened to a pitch black, and his nostrils flared. His non sequitur had me frozen in place; I was hypnotized by his demeanor. I had a fleeting thought that if he were an assassin, I was an easy target, not even taking his advice to escape.

"Now, Major Swan."

Before I had time to blink, he was suddenly at the window – I had registered no movement. He could move faster than I could perceive. One of his hands was splayed on the window, his face only two feet from my own. His beautiful features were contorted in either rage or pain, his eyebrows glowering over his coal black eyes. Even in shock, I found myself more drawn to him than repulsed, my only desire to understand his mercurial nature.

"Now!" he roared at me, and I backed rapidly out the door of the anteroom, the heavy door slamming shut behind me.

**AN2: Believe it or not, I've never written a Bella-meets-Edward scene before. They already know each other in all my other stories.**

**Challenge entries are being accepted until November 30 for the Twilight Anniversary Challenge sponsored by me, edward-bella-harry-ginny and Justine Lark!**

**There are some great entries up already which I hope you all read and review, but we'd love to see more! Help us celebrate a year of writing for ebhg and Justine. By the way, we each wrote a sample, but ours are NOT ELIGIBLE for voting.**

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~twilightanniversarychallenge (or check my profile for a link)**

**The entries are collected in a C2 (check my profile or the anniversary profile for a link).**

**Voting for the challenge begins Dec. 1.**


	5. Meetings

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: As always, I've got to thank edward-bella-harry-ginny for her corrections, words, and support.**

**I have three announcements at the end.**

_Before I had time to blink, he was suddenly at the window – I had registered no movement. He could move faster than I could perceive. One of his hands was splayed on the window, his face only two feet from my own. His beautiful features were contorted in either rage or pain, his eyebrows glowering over his coal black eyes. Even in shock, I found myself more drawn to him than repulsed, my only desire to understand his mercurial nature._

"_Now!" he roared at me, and I backed rapidly out the door of the anteroom, the heavy door slamming shut behind me._

Chapter 5. Meetings.

"You've got to give me some answers." I looked Colonel McCarty in the eye. We were both seated in his office, where he had practically dragged me on the run after I had left Edward's rooms. Or was it a prison?

His jaw spasmed. "Think for a moment about this facility, and what might happen here."

"Top secret DARPA research facility," I said, remembering back to our earlier conversation. There were always rumors about what went on with secret military research, and military personnel were as prone to paranoid conspiracy theories as anyone else, maybe more so. I had always assumed it was ridiculous speculation. Secret weapons development rarely got the same attention as rumors about experiments with human subjects. Now I had to consider the prospect that super soldier research was real – no ordinary human could have moved as fast as Edward had.

"How long will it take you to finish these evaluations?" Apparently, Col. McCarty had finished with the "answers" I had requested.

"I've barely met them," I pointed out. "I'll have a better idea after I talk with each of them on Friday."

"You may already suspect that some will require more work than others," he said, with a slight smile.

I tried not to glare. "Your restrictions have made this assignment very difficult."

"Are you asking for something in particular?"

"I accept the restriction about written records, but this rule about never mentioning old missions completely ties my hands. Therapy requires discussion." I doubted I would get my way, but any serious discussion with Col. McCarty's team about their issues with their job was going to need a discussion about their job.

"There are very good reasons for that restriction, most of them concerned with National Security."

"Exactly," I told him. "Your people will never be able to discuss their issues with anyone else ever again. If you give them the freedom to talk out something bothering them now, you should be able to rest easier knowing they've resolved an issue."

"I'll consider your request and let you know on Friday. In the meantime, here is the information about your official transfer. Review it in the car. You need to leave now if you want to be at your other assignment on time." He handed me a manila folder. Clearly, I was dismissed.

I spent the car ride back to my apartment reading over my "official" reassignment orders from the VA in Hampton to the DARPA research center. It wasn't going to be hard to lie about what I was doing because the imaginary research project I had been assigned to was hypothetically classified top secret. There wasn't anything I _could_ say. After I read the information twice, I realized I had no need to save the papers. When we arrived back at my apartment, I left the envelope on the car seat.

"Major Swan, we'll pick you up at 7:30 a.m. Friday."

"Thank you, uh, driver." I still had no idea who was driving the vehicle, except that he was male. Heck, the guy talking could have been someone in the passenger seat. There was no way to know.

I ran the flights up to my apartment. I needed my briefcase which had the draft of the plan for family group counseling I was preparing. Checking the clock, I realized I only had about fifteen minutes to get to the Metro if I was going to be at work on time. Luckily, I was already in uniform, and I had left my briefcase by the front door. I only opened the door long enough to grab my bag, fumbling with my keys as I relocked the door. I would have to walk briskly to the station, but at least I wouldn't have to jog.

The crowded train car was the perfect place to think in solitude. Anonymous crowds were to me like those white noise tapes. Random conversations flowed around me as tourist families discussed their sightseeing and workers chatted with friends during their lunch breaks. It allowed me the time and place to mull over the information that had been thrust into my lap despite my protests. Was _Edward_ the secret that Mystery Man wanted? Or was it information about past secret missions which violated official policies? How did I avoid Mystery Man's questions, and should I tell Colonel McCarty about him? I still wasn't sure who to trust. Col. McCarty was operating a covert ops team. Mystery Man promised me a particular vote from Congress. Neither had earned my trust.

My thoughts circled back to Edward, and I flushed red, glancing around the train car as I felt my face get warm. As usual, there was no one even looking my way. Everyone not busy talking with someone seemed to be absorbed in their iPods or in texting on their phone. I wondered what would drive a young man – a male-model-kind-of-attractive young man – to undergo enough experimental treatment to become what he was. And what was he? A super soldier assassin? I wondered what his physical limits were, and what about the ventilation system would have caused him to freak out. I surreptitiously sniffed myself, but I smelled like my floral bodywash. I had never seen anything like it; he had looked so wild, so feral. I was reminded of a scene from the movie Greystoke, the Legend of Tarzan which Renee had made me watch with her at least three times. She had a high school crush on the star, Christopher Lambert. The scene was one where Tarzan stalks Jane. In bed. I choked out a laugh, which made the lady across the aisle frown at me. I had just cracked a bad fortune cookie joke, in my head no less. While thinking of Edward. In bed. I swallowed nervously. He was going to be a problem for me, and not just because he had issues of his own. I kept seeing his eyes, glowing like backlit topaz gems, and then turning to coal. The last look I had of him as I left his rooms was haunting me; he had appeared to be in agony, struggling with something out of his control. Mystery Man might be highly interested in Edward, but he had nothing on me.

I exited at my stop, and wended my way to the office. It was about five till one, so I was right on time. Angela's desk was empty; I assumed she was still at lunch. In my office, I sat with the papers I had been working on, reading and re-reading the same paragraphs. I needed to put something together by lunchtime tomorrow since we had a staff meeting at one, but I couldn't concentrate. If I wasn't reviewing the names and stories of the team members, I was panicking about a surprise visit from MM. And if I wasn't panicking, I was thinking about Edward, which involved a different kind of anxiety.

"Hey!" Mike poked his head into my office. Before he could open his mouth, I stopped him.

"No swan jokes."

"But—

"And no bell jokes."

"But—"

"Haven't you graduated to Stanley jokes yet?" I smiled to take the sting out of my words.

"Sorry. I get it." Mike looked dejected and started to leave.

"Wait; was there something else, though?" I doubted it, but thought I'd ask.

"No, well, I wondered if you and Jessica would join me for a, uh, sailboat ride this weekend?"

"Oh, sorry, Mike. I haven't had a chance to tell anyone here yet since it just happened. I've been transferred from Hampton to another facility, effective immediately. I haven't even called Jess yet to let her know I won't be there this weekend." Well, that sounded natural-ish. Sort of.

"What! Where are you going to be?"

"A DARPA facility," I told him with a shrug.

"Wow, what are you doing there?" He looked genuinely interested, and a little surprised.

"Ugh, can't get into it," I said, making a face.

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't."

"Oh. Wow. Okay, maybe another time?" Mike had not given up yet? I thought he liked Jessica!

"You could still go with Jess, if she's free," I suggested. I was just as optimistic as he was; we just weren't hoping for the same things. He just nodded as he left my office.

As it turned out, the interruption with Mike was exactly what I needed. His demented interest in me was enough to clear my head of dangerous men. I buckled under and put all of my work together.

"Major Swan?" Angela was at my door.

"Hi, Angela." I finished up with the documents, satisfied that I was ready for the next day's meeting.

"How did the plumbing situation work out?" she asked.

"Oh, it was fixed up by the building manager before I even got home," I managed to stutter out. Lying on the fly was not one of my talents. Suddenly I realized I should have lied (well, a different lie) and I could have gone home with Angela. I was fairly certain MM wouldn't approach me there. I needed more time.

"That's great! Your management is obviously better than mine. It took three weeks last year to get our hot water fixed. Well, I'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, no, I'm leaving, too. We can catch the Metro together." I threw my stuff together and joined Angela for the trip home. It was nice every now and then to be one of the chatting couples instead of one of iPod-mesmerized loners.

When I got home, I opened the door and entered my own place very cautiously. I stood just inside my door and sniffed. I didn't catch a whiff of cigarette smell. I walked slowly forward, flipping lights as I went. The living room was clear. I let out a breath in relief, but then headed toward my bedroom. I flipped the light switch while still in the hallway, and then peeked in. It was the same as this morning. I checked the bathroom as well. The apartment was blessedly clear of spies and broken furniture. Though I was left to ponder if that was because MM was waiting for me to have more information or if my angry outburst with Col. McCarty was more effective than I had thought.

I spent the evening running on the apartment complex' treadmill and then eating a boneless, skinless chicken breast with a plain baked potato and a salad. It was mildly depressing, but nutritionally balanced. I was ready for the staff meeting, so I indulged in various reruns on TV, and then went to bed.

That was the first night I dreamed of Edward. This time, there was no glass separating us, and he approached me slowly, with the slightest rumble of a growl from his chest. He was wearing a very tight olive drab t-shirt and his camo pants, and his pale skin seemed luminous in pale moonlight. I wanted to run, but I was frozen by his overwhelming presence. When he was only inches away, he leaned forward, and whispered in my ear "_You smell delicious_."

I woke with a start, and realized I was gasping, and covered in goose bumps. The room was empty, although the moon was shining directly in my window. I laughed weakly at myself. Maybe I should be in therapy. Who dreams about being told they smell delicious?

Work the next day was routine, except for the staff meeting. Generally, meetings were the low point of any day. I would make my report, dutifully take notes on reports other people made, but spend most of my time watching Major Newton drool in his sleep and Major Crowley surreptitiously check on his fantasy football league on his phone under the table. They would undoubtedly ask me for notes later. Our CO/project leader, Col. Brown, was slightly disorganized but paternal in a pleasant rather than overbearing way.

Today was the exception. Around 1100, Mike burst into my office, for once appearing panicky rather than his usual jovial self.

"Senator James is going to be at this meeting!" He looked frantic, eyes rapidly looking over my office as if expecting to find a treasure to present to the senator from South Carolina.

"What is he coming to a staff meeting to do?" I asked. Admittedly, I was a little nervous as well.

"I don't know! I don't know! My report this week is really bland; I was only talking about knee replacement materials," he lamented.

"I'm sure the senator is a busy man; he's probably just coming to give us a pep talk. He's on the Armed Services committee and he's been a big supporter of an improved VA system and veteran's support groups. I really doubt he will want to hear our reports."

As it turned out, I was right. Col. Brown, who looked nearly as concerned as Mike, swept through our office a few minutes later to let us know the usual staff reports were postponed until the following week since Sen. James was going to address us instead. I was surprised he had come through personally with that message, but then I realized he was checking our uniforms when he straightened Mike's tie.

The meeting was a formal affair, with short speeches from various higher-level brass and an introduction of the senator. The speech he gave was longer than I would have liked, and although I tried to listen carefully, I was unable to discern what was so important that he needed to visit us and give a pep talk. I wasn't even sure it was a pep talk. I settled for examining the senator. He was probably in his mid fifties, but he was nicely built, dressed in an expensive grey suit, and perfectly coifed. His hair was still full and blonde, and he had intense blue-grey eyes. I could sense his charisma as he spoke, even if the words were uninspiring in themselves. He was more presence than substance, I suspected.

One of the other committee members, one working on veteran's insurance benefits, leaned over and whispered to me. "His son Victor is over there."

I turned, and saw a striking man in his dress blues. He had flaming red hair but the same eyes as his father. He apparently sensed my attention, and turned his gaze on me. His lips curved into a smirk more than a smile. I didn't sense "friendly" so much as "gotcha." I turned away in embarrassment and tried to concentrate more on Senator James' speech.

At the end of the speech, I clapped with everyone else, and then filed out into the hallway. I was walking with Mike and Tyler back to the office when I heard Col. Brown call my name.

"Major Swan! I'd like to introduce you to the senator." He waved me over. Mike and Tyler both gave me looks of surprise, which I'm sure I returned with interest. I walked briskly over.

"Come on," he urged me. "Senator James' office worked with my office on selecting the committee members, and you were one of the candidates he supported."

"Oh!" This was surprising. "I didn't know, sir."

"He liked your file, something about your long term commitment to counseling soldiers."

We approached the senator, who was still surrounded by an assortment of aides and generals.

"Ah, the lovely Major Swan," the senator exclaimed.

"Senator James," I replied. "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

"No, the honor and pleasure are all mine, I assure you." His words were slightly elongated with his southern accent, and his intensity had increased with proximity. He was charismatic in a powerful rather than a personable way. This was a man who was used to getting what he desired. "I wanted to meet in person the young crusader for soldier and veteran mental health."

"Thank you, sir. Counseling servicemen has been an interest of mine since college." I wasn't sure if I should publicly thank him for securing my position at the Pentagon. I decided against it since I thought Col. Brown had shared it in confidence.

"I've seen some of the reports you've prepared for the committee, and I'd like you to give a presentation in my office next week. That won't disrupt her work here, will it, Colonel?" The senator's question didn't fool anyone; he fully expected my presence in his office.

"Absolutely not, Senator." Col. Brown was beaming like a proud father.

"I'll have my staff make arrangements for next Wednesday." The senator turned towards one of the generals at his side, our impromptu meeting over.

Col. Brown escorted me back to the hallway. "This is a great opportunity for you and the committee, Major Swan. Matthew Hunter James may be young for a senator, but his star has been rising fast. We'll spend all day Tuesday on your presentation."

"Of course, sir." My head was spinning.

I spent the rest of the afternoon frantically looking over every staff report I had given since arriving at the Pentagon, and then reviewing all our goals and objectives. We were still so early in the process; I wondered why the senator didn't wait until we had a complete draft before having us meet with him.

When I arrived at home that evening, I was so distracted I didn't even notice my apartment was empty until after I'd eaten dinner. That night, my dreams were torn between two very different but clearly dangerous men.

My first round of interviews with team began at 8 am Friday morning with Rodney. He was bright, cheery, and charming. I spent each half hour until lunch chatting informally with each team member successively. I learned that the quadruple knockout – Brock, Jack, Rick, and Franc – were a diverse fighting team. All four were proficient at hand-to-hand and small weapons, but they each had specialties. Jack Goldstein was adopted from Korea. His hobby was juggling, but only objects with sharp edges. He had a very dry wit, to the extent that I was unsure at the end of our talk whether he was joking or serious.

Ivan Brock was a small arms specialist, and his darker-haired counterpart Rick was the martial arts guru. They were both polite, but clearly put out with having to talk with me. Frankie was nearly effusive, confiding that she was interested in additional estrogen on the team. She was the only fully qualified sharpshooter on the team and nearly Rick's equal in martial arts training. The only tough moment with her was when I asked about her family.

Shannon let me know right away that she rarely left Major Heinz's side during an operation; she was the communications wizard, and her primary job was to keep track of the entire team and feed them information when necessary. With Mitch Hoone, I realized I was doing all the talking. He was quiet, but laughed at anything I said which resembled a joke. He was going to be difficult, but not for the same reason as Brock and Rick.

At 11:30, Mitch checked his watch and waved to let me know he was leaving. When he was gone, I blew out a long breath, and then put my head on the desk while banging on it with my fist.

"Frustrated?"

I sat up instantly. "Oh, Major Heinz. I thought I was done for the morning."

"You are. I wanted to let you know that you will be training with the team at 1330." He tossed a pack on my desk. "Clothes for the training session."

"I don't know if this is a good idea," I said in the understatement of the year. I had a sudden lurch of nausea. Everyone on this team had extensive training in hand-to-hand or martial arts or both, including Heinz, Shannon, and Mitch. I was transported back to junior high, and the day I was knocked unconscious by a volleyball. And then the day I got hit on the forehead with a softball. And the day I broke my ankle when we were supposed to be doing the hurdles. What sadist makes 13-year-olds run hurdles?

Heinz looked amused. "Everyone on this team trains, Major Swan."

As he left, I got up and locked my office door. I opened the package, and found a full complement of workout clothes, down to the socks and shoes. I put them on and was unsurprised that a covert ops outfit could successfully determine my clothing size. I tucked my hair under the cap with the clothes. I took a few cleansing breaths, and headed downstairs for my first real trip to the mess.

When I arrived, Shannon and Frankie waved me over. "What's for lunch?" I asked.

"Not here yet," said Frankie. "Good morning?"

"Long," I admitted. I didn't usually have any type of relationship with "patients" outside their sessions. This was going to be weird. Really weird.

The other team members filed in, one at a time, waving politely. Rodney came in and sat by me, across from Shannon, and I smiled to myself. Definitely something going on.

The sergeant from the "front door" arrived a moment later, pushing a cart with sandwiches, chips, cookies, fruit, and chilled cans of various sodas. My eyes bulged a little. There were only ten of us, eleven if Col. McCarty counted. It looked like enough food for at least thirty.

"Don't worry, Major Swan," Frankie assured me. "Mitch can put away three or four sandwiches by himself, and Brock's not much better."

Lunch was a pleasant affair, the team showing its camaraderie during the enforced downtime. Apparently, there were no missions to be scheduled until I finished the evaluations. The army way of life was often called "hurry up and wait," and the team was in a waiting period. When Shannon dropped her fork, mouth hanging open, and Frankie audibly gulped, I swiveled on the bench and was shocked as they were when I saw Edward coming into the mess with Col. McCarty. If I'd thought I'd overreacted to his presence on Wednesday, I was sorely mistaken. Even his measured gait next to the colonel's was that of a predator, if one under control. We all stood until Col. McCarty waved us off. Edward wandered over to our table and sat next to Rodney, although he hadn't grabbed any food.

"Major," Rodney said by way of greeting. I watched the interactions at the table carefully. Edward was clearly tense, but he wasn't the only one. The body language at the table was indicative of nervous tension, and perhaps a little fear. I was worried that I didn't know enough of Edward yet to be properly afraid. On top of that, I could still feel the pull towards him that I had felt before. Pathetically, it had taken a lot of my professional skills to avoid questioning everyone about Edward's role on the team during our initial sessions.

"Rodney, ladies," Edward responded. I noticed his eyes swept the table, but he managed to avoid looking at me. I supposed the obsessive interest I had developed for Edward was not exactly mutual, and the realization gave me a sad, empty feeling. I also noticed that he was gripping the table and wrinkling his nose. Apparently he found my smell as objectionable today as he had on our first meeting. No wonder I dreamed he thought me delicious. It was definitely a wish-fulfillment fantasy.

"What brings you to lunch, Edward?" asked Frankie. I could tell she was uncomfortable, she was twitching her first and second fingers against her thumb; it was the same twitch she had engaged in when I asked about her family.

"Yes, did the colonel spring you from the cage?" joked Rodney, a slight smirk on his face. I was concerned that the blonde had a death wish.

"I thought I'd join the training session today," he answered, addressing Shannon and ignoring Rodney. I could see Edward's profile, and felt justified taking in all his features since he was speaking. It was the polite thing to do.

"Edward. You can help set up equipment." Major Heinz was walking some line between asking and ordering. Edward stood without protest and followed Heinz, Brock, and Jack.

"I've never seen him in a session," Shannon said in awe.

"I've been on the team for five years, and I've never seen him at lunch, much less at a session." Frankie was staring at the empty doorway where Edward had exited.

"So, have you ever seen him in action?" I winced at the various images my question conjured.

"His part of a mission is usually pretty secretive," said Frankie slowly. She appeared to be weighing her words, considering what she was permitted to share.

Shannon started to speak, but Frankie nudged her, and she coughed instead. I pretended not to notice, and changed the subject instead.

"Uh, so, what exactly are we about to do? I don't think it's any secret that I don't have the same preparation as the rest of you. It's a bit of a miracle that I made it through basic." I was probably going to end up heaving my lunch on Heinz's shoes.

"Probably warm-up, flexibility training, and maybe some sparring. We did strength training yesterday. I'll work with you and Shannon today. Rick can be a real jerk with newbies."

With that confidence builder, the three of us got up and headed for the gym. Jack led the team (save Col. McCarty) through warm-up; it was a standard set of drills, and except for my extreme embarrassment for coming in dead last during the shuttle run exercise, I didn't have a problem with anything we did.

"Not bad major. You're a good sport." Shannon smacked me on the shoulder with that back-handed encouragement. It was a measure of my discomfort that she actually made me feel better.

Flexibility training was also fine; I'd never really had a problem with that. At least it wasn't a race.

That left the sparring, and I felt my mouth go dry while conversely my hands became unpleasantly moist. Rick and Frankie started out with a demonstration of moves they were teaching the rest of the group; I couldn't even follow their description, although I was impressed with beauty of their movements together. I decided that even if I would end up looking like a complete idiot, I could use my time to observe the dynamics of the team. I watched how the others were studying Rick and Frankie's demo; most of the others appeared engrossed, making slight movements of their own as if to absorb the information with their muscles rather than their mind. Meanwhile, at the far side of the group from where I stood, Heinz was watching Edward, and Edward was acting bored.

"Anyone want to give it a try?" asked Rick. I snapped back to where he and Frankie stood, and realized he was looking me in the eye. As if.

"I'll take on Edward," challenged Rodney. I wondered what he was trying to prove, and to whom. Did he have no clue?

"Not a good idea," said Rick at the same time Mitch guffawed, the loudest noise I'd heard him make.

"Are you worried I'll beat his ass-et?" asked Rodney.

"They're worried you won't live through it," replied Edward softly. He hadn't moved a muscle since Rodney's challenge. I was instantly drawn in. I had been in the military all my adult life and studied psychology, and I should be able to dispassionately examine Edward's role on the team, but my mind was flooded with hyperbolic adjectives like "powerful," "hypnotic," and "dangerous." He was quietly certain of himself. He didn't force himself on the situation, but everyone in the room was aware of his menace.

"Perhaps this would be instructive," suggested Heinz. "Assuming you don't kill him."

"It has been a few years since you had a…sparring partner," Rick commented with a slight smile. "In fact, I think I was the last. Good luck Rodney."

Rodney blanched a little at that statement, the implication being that the team's martial arts master wasn't good enough to best Edward. The others were in varying states of fear or amusement; I noted the amused ones included those I knew had been on the team for the longest.

"Still interested?" asked Edward. "I won't think less of you if you've changed your mind."

"I'm good. What are the rules?"

"Choose any weapon you like, any style of fighting you like. If you can touch me, you win."

"How do _you_ win?" asked Rodney, his show of confidence marred by a slight quaver to his voice.

"Don't worry. You'll know when I win," Edward deadpanned. Rick snorted and flushed, apparently remembering something he didn't like.

Rodney wandered to the rack of practice weapons, and chose a long sword-like weapon, but apparently made of bamboo. It was more than a yard long.

I must have looked confused, because Frankie leaned over and whispered to me. "It's a _shinai_, a bamboo sword for _kendo_. That's a Japanese martial art. One of Rodney's preferences, although of course he's not as good as Rick. He's not bad at it, but…"

I wondered if anyone besides me had seen Edward in action. I looked over the two men. Edward had maybe an inch or so on Rodney, but Rodney was broader in the chest. If I didn't know that Edward had (I didn't like to even say it in my head because it sounded corny) _superpowers_, I would have picked Rodney to win. But as it stood, I knew Edward would win. I couldn't keep my eyes off him. He showed no sign of concern. He also showed no sign that he knew I was in the room.

"When you're ready," Edward said dryly. He stood in the center of the floor, arms at his sides, feet slightly apart. He looked at ease.

Rodney shouted and attacked, and Edward just slipped out of the way, avoiding contact by only centimeters. One of my eyebrows popped up. Edward was playing with him. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"Do you want protective gear?" asked Rodney, breathing a little hard. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Don't hold back. I'll be fine." Edward hadn't changed his stance. He let Rodney make two more passes, each time slipping away by a handsbreadth.

On the next pass, Edward simply wasn't there. Rodney froze, stopped in the middle of a lunge. Edward was directly behind him. It was like a choreographed dance, but only Edward knew the steps.

"Ready to concede?" Edward's voice was quiet, but still sent chills through me.

Rodney whirled, but when he stopped, the _shinai_ was gone, as was Edward. I searched the gym, looking for where he had gone, but he was as suddenly back, standing over a prone Rodney.

"Oh, geez. I think you bruised my ankles," Rodney groaned facedown into the mat on the floor. "Best two of three."

"If you wish." Edward stood back as Rodney lurched to his feet, rubbing his chin. It had a strawberry, probably from striking the floor mat at a high rate of speed.

"Did you see what he did to Rodney?" I asked Frankie quietly. I certainly hadn't, even though I had tried to keep my eyes on Edward's form throughout the whole thing.

"Just barely. He grabbed his ankles and yanked. I think. It was so fast; it was more like I saw what happened to Rodney. I didn't really see Edward until he was done. And, uh, Rodney's _shinai_ is back on the rack." There was awe in her voice, and I wondered if Edward would find her scent more to his liking than mine.

"No concussions this time," Heinz was warning Edward. I noted that he didn't warn Rodney not to hurt Edward.

Rodney walked gingerly toward the weapons rack, trying to shake off whatever pain he was feeling. "Suggestions, Rick?" he asked.

"Yeah. Quit while you're only this far behind."

Rodney turned and glared, but then perused the rack. This time I could name the weapon he chose; it was a fencing foil. I glanced quizzically at Frankie.

"Faster response from the lighter weapon," she said.

"Good luck," I muttered under my breath. I thought I saw Edward's cheek move, as if he were suppressing a smile.

Rodney took up a fencing stance in the center of the floor. Edward stood calmly.

"_En garde_!" Apparently this was French for "land me on my ass," because before I could blink, Rodney was on his butt groaning loudly, weapon gone. Edward did not appear to have moved.

"Uh, wow." Frankie was impressed. "I didn't see _anything_."

"And that's why he doesn't come to training," smirked Rick. He was rubbing the back of his head as though it had met the floor recently. I had a feeling it was sympathy pain, remembered all too clearly from Edward's last match.

"Okay, I concede," groaned Rodney. "But we didn't learn anything; you didn't demonstrate any fighting technique." Rodney sounded petulant.

"If I look like I'm going to fight, you can assume someone is going to die." Edward's words, though spoken quietly, seemed to echo through the gym. At that moment, it occurred to me why Col. McCarty had rushed me from Edward's rooms. The danger within him was usually contained, but somehow that morning, the container had cracked. I had looked into the face of a killer when he had been poised to kill. But why me? It had to be something more than my bad odor.

Rodney was properly chastised, apparently, since he uncharacteristically made no more comments. Shannon had rushed over to check on him, and the other members of the team were making somewhat rude comments about whether a concussion would lower or raise his IQ, but I was watching Edward. He had moved toward the periphery of the floor, still at ease, I thought. His head jerked slightly, his eyes focused on the ceiling. If I had to guess, I would have said he was looking in the direction of Col. McCarty's office. I doubted anyone who wasn't obsessively watching him would have noticed the movement.

Rick had just started to set up sparring pairs, when the gym door burst open.

"We have a mission, we leave immediately. Briefing on the plane." Col. McCarty looked over the room, and I thought I saw him nod slightly toward Edward. The two of them exited the gym together.

I was standing in shock, as the rest of the team hurried out of the gym, leaving the equipment where it lay. At the door, Major Heinz swiveled. "That includes you, Major Swan. Pack a bag ASAP. Transport leaves in fifteen."

**AN2: Three announcements:**

**First: Voting continues until Dec. 15 at midnight (Tuesday night!) for the Twilight Anniversary Challenge sponsored by me, edward-bella-harry-ginny and Justine Lark!  
****There are some great entries which I hope you all read and review! Help us celebrate a year of writing for ebhg and Justine. By the way, we each wrote a sample, but ours are NOT ELIGIBLE for voting.**

**www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~twilightanniversarychallenge (or check my profile for a link)**

**The entries are collected in a C2 (check my profile or the anniversary profile for a link).**

**Second: The mentalward challenge includes an entry by crmcneill titled Downward Spiral which was inspired by The Cold War. It's a great one-shot, but really dark (mentalward!) www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/~MentalwardContest. **

**Third: Hey! The Cold War won Best Volturi in the most recent round of The Sparkle Awards! EliseShaw, Justine Lark, and edward-bella-harry-ginny also won awards, so congrats to all of you, and thanks to any of you who voted!**


	6. Restrictions

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: As always, I've got to thank edward-bella-harry-ginny for her corrections, words, and support.**

**Thanks also to all you readers/reviewers/favorite-ers/alerters! I'm glad you're enjoying the story.**

"_We have a mission, we leave immediately. Briefing on the plane." Col. McCarty looked over the room, and I thought I saw him nod slightly toward Edward. The two of them exited the gym together._

_I was standing in shock, as the rest of the team hurried out of the gym, leaving the equipment where it lay. At the door, Major Heinz swiveled. "That includes you, Major Swan. Pack a bag ASAP. Transport leaves in fifteen."_

Ch. 6. Restrictions

I led Edward out of the gym and headed toward his "suite."

_How do you want to deal with Major Swan for the mission?_ I knew he already had every detail in my possession committed to that computer bank he called a brain.

"I won't feel comfortable unless I can keep an eye on her. I can't hear her at all; there's no way to know what she's done. She could compromise the mission." It was still eerie to walk with him, not see his lips move, but hear his voice come through our non-standard headset.

_So you want her _on_ the mission?_ I was a little surprised.

"I don't want her out of my sight. I don't trust her. She's already gotten Frankie and Shannon trusting her, and Rodney's not far behind. I think she's using that psychology background to put everyone at ease, and it's working for her."

_I can put her with Heinz at the base._

"No. I won't be able to read him from where we are. I told you; I want her in my sight at all times."

_That brings up another issue._

"Dammit! Not again." I saw his hand fist.

_You know I would violate orders for this, but Heinz is always watching. He knows protocol as well as I do, and he's a straight shooter. I don't have time to stay with you for the whole trip. The rest of us need sleep, occasionally._

* * *

The loud, vibrating drone of the plane engines combined with the constant rush of cold air on the huge cargo plane. We were all dressed in multiple layers and riding in extreme discomfort given the lack of amenities. Apparently, Col. McCarty had decided that keeping our travel secret involved keeping our travel unpleasant. Mitch, Major Heinz, and Shannon were in the cockpit. The usual pilots for this supply run were not authorized to know about our presence.

The cargo space was jammed with all manner of boxes and crates, and seven humans – the entire team aside from those in the cockpit and Edward. I wondered where he was; I hadn't seen him since Col. McCarty had broken up the sparring session to give us our orders. No one else seemed concerned about it, so I didn't ask about his absence.

"Now that we're underway, I'll begin the briefing." Col. McCarty's voice came through my headset as he paced in the narrow space between our knees. I sat between Frankie and Rodney, and the rest of the K's – Brock, Jack, and Rick – sat across from us. "At 1330, I received word that a soldier had been abducted off the streets of Kabul. He was off-duty, and there are conflicting stories about why he would be alone."

"Why would this concern us," asked Brock. "One soldier kidnapped in Afghanistan isn't enough to send us off at a moment's notice. There are other soldiers who have been missing for months."

"I was getting to that. We have approximately twenty hours after we land before CSTC-A is forced to go to the media. The soldier kidnapped is the son of Senator Trace from Maine."

We were all stunned, apparently, since no one spoke for a moment. "They'll torture him to death if they find out," Frankie said, her voice nearly inaudible over the static. From the way she spoke, I had a feeling there was something more behind the comment. I looked around at the others, and I could see concern on their faces.

"What's the plan?" asked Rodney, sounding more businesslike than usual.

"You're going to work together on this one; you're going in as a medical team. I've got an ambulance and two humvees waiting for us. Edward and Major Swan will be in the ambulance, and the rest of you split between the humvees as escort. Tactical on the streets is under Edward's direction. Command decisions come from Major Heinz. I'll be meeting with CSTC-A, but Heinz will keep me in the loop."

"Any intel about where he's been taken or by whom?" This question came from Jack, but Rick was nodding as if he'd had the same question. I had noticed Rick rarely spoke if he could avoid it.

"Nothing as of the last transmission. I expect we'll have an update once we're on the ground. Time will be short when we hit the ground, so I suggest everyone try to get some rest." Col. McCarty swept his eyes across the group, and then went up to the cockpit.

I listened to the others discussing the situation in Kabul; apparently, they'd been there recently, but of course they didn't mention any details of the previous mission. It had been nearly five years since my one tour in Afghanistan; I wondered if I would recognize anything. Civil war and foreign occupation didn't usually lead to stability. The colonel's words started to sink in, and I realized I'd be stuck in an ambulance with Edward for an unknown period of time. That meant he _was_ somewhere on the plane, even though he hadn't boarded with the rest of us. I wondered what the rationale was for putting me on the ground with the rest of the combat-ready crew. The tension started to get to me, and I had a brief bout of nerves which included a little nausea.

I flipped up the microphone attached to my headset and tapped Frankie. "Where's the restrooms?" I couldn't whisper over the background noise, but at least I didn't have to broadcast my question to the entire team.

She pointed to a door in the opposite direction as the cockpit, and I headed back. The door led to a dark, narrow hallway, and I stumbled my way through and found myself in another, smaller cargo area at the back of the plane. Where I found Edward.

He was glaring at me from a chair only two steps away from the hallway. He was dressed the same as the rest of us, but had a blanket thrown over his lap. He was wearing a headset like mine, not his usual low-profile device. His jaw was tense and his brow was lowered, but somehow he still exuded an aura of coiled power draped in ethereal beauty. I knew I was staring, and I managed to snap myself out of it.

"I'm sorry, I was looking for the restrooms."

"They're behind you," he replied, not attempting to mask his hostility.

That would have been the end of our discussion, had the plane not hit a pocket of turbulence. I was thrown hard at Edward, and I landed on one knee on the metal floor, hitting my head hard enough on the metal arm of his chair to see stars. I sat stunned for a second and groaned. I had hoped clumsy Bella would never make another appearance, but here she was. I groaned again, this time partly from embarrassment.

"Ow." I touched my hand to my head, my eyes still squeezed shut from the pain.

"Are you bleeding anywhere?" The angry voice broke me out of my haze, and I opened my eyes.

"Oh, crap," I practically screamed. I had ended up on my knees with my face buried in Edward's lap. I scooted backwards quickly and sat on the metal floor as I was still uncertain of my balance.

"I am so sorry," I said again. "And no, I'm not bleeding. I am mortified, though. Thanks for catching me."

"I didn't exactly –" Edward paused, listening. "Yes, Colonel, she's back here….No, she's fine….What? Now? Fine." Edward's brow wrinkled, and he shut his eyes tightly. When he opened them, I was caught once again by how they nearly glowed. His lips were in a tight line before he let out a breath. "Col. McCarty says you should have your first session with me."

"Now?" I realized I had echoed his words to Col. McCarty. Apparently, neither one of us felt ready for this.

"Yes. Could you flip up this microphone?" He angled his chin toward me, and something in me thrilled at putting my hands so close to his face. At the same time, I wondered that he didn't flip up the mike himself. I shifted closer to him, and in an uncharacteristically bold move, I pulled the blanket off his lap.

He was shackled, wrists handcuffed to thicker-than-normal chains that attached to ankle restraints. There were at least two of the heavy-duty sets from what I could see, and I looked up at his face in shock and horror. For the first time, his demeanor was less than confident; I wasn't sure what I saw in his face, but I thought it was shame. I placed the blanket back on his lap, and cautiously flipped up his mike, staying very careful not to touch his face or his hair. Somehow, the gesture felt intimate as I leaned across his lap. I knew my eyes were still wide from surprise.

"I'm very sorry, Edward." I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for; part was for violating his privacy, part was for the circumstances that had brought him to this point in his young life. "Why?"

"Is this the beginning of our session?" he asked, his tones clipped. His mask was back in place.

"Yes."

"Due to his volatility and value, the asset will, in the future, be confined to the facility or restrained when not on a mission or under the direct supervision of a commanding officer." Edward was clearly quoting from a memo. I recalled the grace he exhibited even in walking, the way his presence dominated a room, and it felt wrong, so wrong, to see him trapped like this.

"What prompted that decision?" I asked.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the side of the plane. "It was about four years ago. A mission didn't go the way our superiors wanted."

"Col. McCarty said you have 100% mission success."

"That's true. The mission was successful; it simply didn't go the way they wanted. There was information needed, and they would have been very happy if I had to kill to get what we needed, but it was easy to find the information. There was no order to kill, and I didn't feel it was necessary." His smooth voice betrayed no emotion.

"You think they were hoping you'd kill without an order, so they could have someone assassinated without even a secret order to do so?"

"Yes. I know that's what they wanted, but I won't kill without a reason. I've done enough killing for our country." I wanted to ask how many, but I didn't think he was ready for that. I wasn't sure if I was ready to know.

"What made you decide to join?"

"The army or the team?" he asked.

"We can start with the army."

He looked at me quizzically. "What made _you_ decide to join?"

"Tit for tat, Edward? That's not the way this works." Even as I said that, I knew that I would do whatever I needed to get him to open up. I watched him as he sat silently, watching me. A ghost of a smile crossed his lips, so quickly I thought I might have imagined it.

"Fine then." I thought quickly: short version or long version? Definitely the short version. "When I was nearly sixteen, my father realized that he would never be able to afford college for me. My mother has less than no money; it's a wonder she didn't have her electricity cut off every month instead of once or twice a year. My dad, Charlie, was working as the police chief in a miniscule town in Washington state, and he decided that my best shot for college was ROTC. He started me training –"

"You lived with your father?" interrupted Edward. He actually appeared interested in this story.

"Yes, my mother remarried when I was fourteen, and I realized that she and Phil needed some time alone. I went to live with my father starting in my sophomore year of high school." I waited to see if he had another question, but he stayed silent. "So, as I was saying, Charlie made me start running every day, and we went to the shooting range together twice a week. It was really nice having something we could work for together. He took me to my physical, and I got into UW Seattle with an ROTC scholarship." If only I had known his real reasons for getting me in the army, I would have done things so differently.

"You said your father _was_ working as the police chief. What happened to him?"

"He died about a month after I graduated from college," I replied. Usually, that was enough to end the questioning, and this time was no different. I was never able to keep the sadness out of my voice. The grief over Charlie's death was always fresh. "Your turn."

"I was idealistic," he said slowly. "Patriotism was part of it, the glory of serving my country, the desire to be part of something bigger than I was."

Edward's words sounded flat to me; they were abstract reasons. Most young people who joined the armed forces could have said the same thing. In fact, Charlie would never have gotten me into ROTC if I hadn't felt the very same things. He was choosing not to give me the actual story.

"Were you very young?" I asked.

"I was young, yes, but not so young that I didn't know what I was doing." His face betrayed no emotion.

"What did your parents think?" This was a "fishing" question; I knew nothing of Edward's background; there were no files to read.

Edward was silent, looking at the floor. He seemed younger somehow, thinking about his parents. "They don't know."

"They didn't know when you joined, or they still don't know?" I was surprised. Edward was isolated from society, "confined to the facility" by some order. His separation from the rest of the team was partly by choice, I suspected, but partly a result of his superhuman abilities. To find that he was cut off from his family was disturbing. Did he have no one in his life?

"I left my parents very angry," he began. He was measuring words. "My father and I had a…philosophical difference. By the time I realized he was right, it was too late to go back, and the army seemed like a good idea at the time – it was something I had wanted for a long time. I know they wouldn't understand, so I haven't contacted them."

"Do they know about your…abilities?" I asked. I wasn't sure if it was something he would discuss or not.

"They don't know anything about my time with the army," he answered. I noted that he had not definitively answered my question, just as Col. McCarty had been evasive in explaining the source of Edward's abilities.

"I think our half hour is up, Edward." He raised one brow at me. "And I came back here for a very different reason." He nodded curtly at me, and turned slightly away, revealing his patrician profile.

I found the restroom immediately when I slipped back into the short hallway; it was almost impossible to miss. Edward probably thought I had been looking for him, and I blushed in delayed embarrassment. I closed the door to the restroom and locked it, checking the security. I made sure the microphone on my headset was off, and then I dropped my professional mask and allowed myself to feel. I had never been able to recount my life with Charlie or his death without losing control of everything; I was glad I had been able to hold it together until I could cry in private. I had grief, I had shame, and I had guilt over his loss. The noise level on the plane was high enough that I knew I could let loose, and I did, letting loud sobs shake my body. I wondered, as I always did, if Charlie would have been proud of how I had lived out my life. I took the time as I calmed to splash cold water on my face and blow my nose, and I mentally closed and locked the box with Charlie's memory inside.

When I stepped back out into the hallway, I thought I heard my name called. I walked to the back of the plane again, and found Edward watching me with an inscrutable expression.

"Did you call me?"

"Yes, I – I wanted to see if you had questions about the mission." I had the distinct impression he was going to say something else altogether.

"Are you briefed already?" I asked.

A smile flitted across his face. "Yes, I have a headset, too."

"Oh, right. Actually, I was wondering if you knew why Col. McCarty put me into the ambulance with you. I'm not exactly helpful in the way that you are." To say the very least. I supposed if they needed one of the kidnappers to be tripped over, I was their candidate.

"You've had medic training, and I can keep my eye on you."

"Your eye on _me_?" My voice went up about an octave at the end of my question.

"Protect you, keep you out of trouble, keep your nose clean," he began.

"Okay, I get the idea." I scowled at him. "I could just stay at the base with Heinz and company."

"It may not be safe there, either." His eyes were boring into me again, and his intensity was pulling me in. I shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked politely.

I realized I was getting cold; the drafty plane was beginning to get to me. I nodded at him.

"Take the blanket. I don't need it." He pushed at it with his hands, his range severely limited by the chains.

"Do you mind if I sit back here?" I asked.

He shrugged, and I took the blanket from him and leaned against the wall by the hall door. I was worried about crossing lines, and not just with Edward. It didn't make sense for me to be on the team while I evaluated them. Was I on the mission to evaluate their performance as well? I couldn't think of any good reasons for me to be out in the field with them. I could probably hear the same amount of information from wherever Heinz and Shannon set up their mission HQ. I was going to end up developing other relationships with the team besides one as a consulting psychologist. I was going to have to discuss this with Col. McCarty, but it would have to wait until we got back.

I was drifting off to an uneasy sleep when I remembered the meeting with Sen. James on Tuesday morning, and I felt a mild panic hit. This was one of the most important meetings of my military career. I was going to miss it, and I wouldn't be able to tell anyone why. I hoped Col. McCarty could provide some sort of excuse for me, and in my dream-like state, I imagined a meeting with him where I asked permission to fly home early to fulfill my obligations. Col. Brown was going to fire me for sure. This dream continued to a familiar one where I was with the medic team from my tour in Afghanistan. I carried my M16 uneasily, there was fog and smoke surrounding us, and I knew someone beyond my visibility was watching. I heard a burst of gunfire, and the driver Pvt. Grace screamed, one arm coming off the wheel to grab his chest. Out of the smoke, a tall figure approached, and I raised my weapon. This time, instead of firing, I hesitated as I began to make out Edward's face. Relief filled me as I realized I was safe. I heard more gunfire, and instantaneously Edward was at my side. Somehow, I knew he had stepped in front of the bullets.

I woke, a horrible crick in my neck from where I had slumped against a crate. I massaged my neck, and jumped when I realized Edward was watching me.

"Are you faster than a speeding bullet?" I asked, my dream still fresh.

Edward made a choking noise. "Bullets can break the sound barrier, Major Swan. We'll be landing at Bagram in about a half-hour. You should rejoin the rest of the team."

I stood, stretched, and replaced his blanket while maintaining as much distance as I could. Before leaving him, I turned and impulsively asked him one more question. "What's the real reason you joined?"

Edward's golden eyes blazed as he looked into mine. He seemed to be looking for something in me that was just out of his sight, and I was lost for a moment or two. I decided he wasn't going to answer, and I turned away to leave, pulling away from his magnetic gaze.

As I entered the hallway, I thought I heard his voice murmur one word.

"_Penance_."

**AN2: I thought I would get well into the mission on this one, but once I passed 3500 words, I figured I better save that for the next chapter. **

**If you're an AoA reader, I have been working on the next chapter(s). Unfortunately, I've written parts of the beginning, middle, and end but not the connecting pieces. I'll get there eventually.**

**So…is he faster than a speeding bullet? Some of you have asked for answers, but, hey, I'd rather hear your theories. ;)**


	7. Trail

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Much thanks to edward-bella-harry-ginny for her usual pre-reading, beta-work and hand-holding. And thanks to all you readers, reviewers, favorite-ers, and alerters; I appreciate your patience.**

_I stood, stretched, and replaced his blanket while maintaining as much distance as I could. Before leaving him, I turned and impulsively asked him one more question. "What's the real reason you joined?"_

_Edward's golden eyes blazed as he looked into mine. He seemed to be looking for something in me that was just out of his sight, and I was lost for a moment or two. I decided he wasn't going to answer, and I turned away to leave, pulling away from his magnetic gaze._

_As I entered the hallway, I thought I heard his voice murmur one word._

"Penance_."_

Ch. 7. Trail

Bagram Airfield was no different from my memories, what little I could see through the porthole. It was plain and functional and ugly as sin. The air was dry, giving me a mild headache and sinus pain. Through the magic of Colonel McCarty, there was only one other aircraft near ours, and it contained the three vehicles we needed. These were offloaded as we waited on the plane, and then the personnel jumped on a transport and disappeared amongst the huge cargo boxes littering this part of the base.

Colonel McCarty addressed the entire team, Edward included, before we deplaned. I never saw when Col. McCarty released him, but he stood with the rest of us, listening with a grim countenance. "You all know what we're up against. Time is the biggest enemy, for us and for 2nd Lt. Jonathan Trace. Don't make Trace our first failure."

"No sir!" shouted the rest of the team, followed by a clap. I would have been a beat or two behind had I joined in, so I refrained. I was interested to see that Edward, so isolated since I had been observing the team, participated with fervor equal to Rodney's. His demeanor was radically different as he clapped a few of the guys on the back, and said a few words to Frankie and Shannon. He even had a short conversation with Col. McCarty. The only ones who escaped his encouragement were Maj. Heinz and me. But then again, I was about to spend a possible 20-30 hours in an ambulance with him.

The team deplaned and split into four groups. Col. McCarty, Maj. Heinz, and Shannon split off for the US headquarters at Bagram. They wouldn't follow us into the field, but would work behind the scenes and follow the mission by radio. Frankie, Brock, and Rodney took the lead humvee, Edward and I were assigned to the ambulance, and Jack, Rick, and Mitch took the rear in the second humvee. We had all spent an hour or so on the plane checking out our weapons, although the Four K's had taken considerably more time with the small arsenal they each lugged. I was comfortable with my M-16. Edward had a pistol and a sniper's rifle, which he stowed carefully behind the seat in the ambulance.

"Who's driving?" I asked, hoping to elicit a humorous response from Edward. He scowled.

"I'm driving, of course. I think my reflexes are slightly better than yours."

"It was a joke." I rolled my eyes. It was going to be a very long day. I climbed into the passenger side of the ambulance, and was struck by a wave of memories from my first tour.

We didn't have far to go to get to Kabul, but the road conditions slowed us somewhat. I watched the familiar landscape go by, as Edward seemed disinclined to speak. If I didn't know better, I would have guessed he was holding his breath. The plains of Afghanistan were the flattest place I had ever been. Other than the snow-streaked mountains that rose majestically in the distance, the terrain surrounding the road was flat and yellow-brown. I had learned to hate this color when I had been here before.

"Do you ever talk about how you…got this way?" I asked. I winced at my own awkwardness. My job was talking to people about things which made them uncomfortable and getting them to talk back to me. Edward was a whole new level of difficulty, worse than an enigma wrapped in a mystery. I would feel free to let it go – therapy didn't work on people who didn't want it – but some of his actions suggested he wanted help. I suspected that I was on this team for one reason only, and that reason was Edward. If only I knew who wanted me to know Edward and why. If it was Col. McCarty and his superiors, then I was doing exactly the right thing in getting Edward to open up to me. The more I knew about him, the more I could help him. If I was here because someone else was concerned about Edward and his stability, for example, oh, say, Mystery Man and whoever he represented, then perhaps it was better if I knew nothing.

There was a third possibility, I realized. In my quest to understand Edward, I could learn secrets which could be valuable to other people and very harmful to him.

Edward shot me a cryptic glance. His eyes had been trained solely on the road as we bounced along behind the lead humvee. He rolled down his window a crack, and motioned for me to do the same. The outside air wasn't exactly a comfortable 75 degrees, but I humored him.

"Never."

Well, there was a conversation-ender if I ever heard one. Possibility four was that I would not learn anything about Edward for any reason. "I was impressed by how you bolstered everyone's confidence before we left the plane."

Silence.

"Because you're relatively isolated from the rest of the team. They don't see you day-to-day like they do each other."

Silence.

"One would think you'd be less committed to the missions after you've been treated so harshly."

This time I let the silence tick on. I watched the monotonous landscape roll by as I was bounced in my seat.

He finally honored me with his quiet comment. "The fact that some bureaucrat has decided to punish me doesn't mean I want the team to fail."

The radio kicked in at that moment.

"Mama Bear calling for her babies. Check in, babies." Shannon's voice came through the speaker with a slight hiss of static.

"Goldilocks calling Mama Bear. Still on target." Frankie was answering from the lead car.

Edward sighed and picked up the radio. "Red Riding Hood here." My eyebrows went up. Goldilocks was perfect for the blonde Frankie. I supposed that Edward's bronze hair could be called red. Maybe he should switch his moniker to Doc Savage, the Man of Bronze. I had known someone who collected those pulp fiction novels from the thirties (along with every comic book known to man. Or woman).

"Jolly Green Giant checking in." Mitch had answered from the rear vehicle. Mitch was huge; I liked Mr. Clean better as a description, but Jolly Green Giant would work.

"Mama Bear loves you all. Papa Bear is sending his love."

"That's code," Edward said unnecessarily. "Check the sat phone in my bag." I pulled the phone out of the duffel on the seat between us.

"There's a new message. It's coordinates." I handed him the phone when he put out his hand. He read the message, but maintained an exact distance from the bumper of the lead humvee and perfect placement in our lane of the road. I knew this because I panicked a little when he took his eyes off the road. I could add "excellent driver" to the list of Edward's many talents.

"This is the last known location of our package," he said, handing back the phone. "It's a few blocks from Chicken Street, but not a usual place for Americans." Edward frowned. "I can't imagine what he was doing there." I couldn't imagine how Edward had converted a set of coordinates into a street location, but his accomplishments were losing the element of surprise.

"Do you need to tell everyone else where we're going?" I asked.

"They have GPS units on the humvees," he told me.

I was relieved Edward was driving once we entered Kabul. I wasn't sure how I'd forgotten the traffic and its complete lack of regulation, but Edward and the other drivers had no trouble forcing their way through the chaos. Lane markers were nonexistent, and entering an intersection was something like death match. Our mini convoy struggled along valiantly under apparent radio silence.

"There's no radio chatter," I said, speaking my thoughts aloud.

"We're disciplined."

I wanted to sigh. We were back to curt.

We stuck to larger streets until the lead humvee turned off into a much smaller one. I assumed we were getting close. I wished Edward would say so rather than me asking. Perhaps he was used to having his own vehicle on missions?

"Who would be in the ambulance with you if I hadn't been conscripted?" I asked.

"Rick."

I thought of the Asian fighter, comparing him to Jack and Brock. I couldn't decide why Edward would prefer one over the other. "Any particular reason?"

"He doesn't talk," Edward answered, stressing each word.

I couldn't help myself; I snorted just a little from a suppressed giggle.

"What?"

"Nothing. You're like a grumpy old man." The shocked look he shot me at that statement got my shoulders shaking with the laughter I was trying to tamp down. "Sorry. I think I might be a little giddy from the jet lag, sleep deprivation, and the general sense that I may be about to die, and you're acting like Grandpa Joe before he gets out of bed."

"I'm acting like who?"

"Never mind."

I watched the passing houses and street vendors. The cracked windows let in smells of car exhaust, cooking food, and the less pleasant smells of a large city in a third world country. We slowed and parked. Edward flipped the mike on his helmet down.

"Rodney, start at the shop with the red door. Ask the usual. Stay for at least five minutes, then continue door-to-door down the left side of the street."

I heard Rodney's response through my ear piece. "Have the other units already been through?" He and Brock were already exiting the humvee and heading toward the shop.

"Yes, and they made a mess of things. The reception will not be very pleasant, but I'm sure you're up to the task."

The whole team (I was sure) listened as Rodney spoke with the first shop owner (I assumed). He sounded apologetic while the shop owner sounded terse. I flipped up my mike. "What language are they speaking?"

"Pashto. Rodney is very clever with languages."

"Do you know what they're saying?" I asked, guessing I already knew the answer.

"Yes."

After about five minutes of questions and short answers, Rodney and Brock exited the shop and entered the next. The same scene was played out three times, but on the fourth stop, Edward became involved again. The discussion had begun similarly to the first three, with Rodney behaving politely during his questioning and the shop owner responding with displeasure.

"Offer him fifty dollars for the woman's portrait on the left," Edward told Rodney. I looked at him in surprise. We couldn't see into the shop. Rodney had launched into a new discussion, one which didn't sound like a question. I figured he was following Edward's orders.

"Now offer him two hundred dollars for the portrait," Edward said, after a clearly negative response from the shop owner. The shop owner declined a second time. "Tell him you're sorry, but you find her smile reminds you of the sunset over the Pacific Ocean." There was a brief silence, and then I heard the shop owner speak in quiet German to Rodney. The discussion was hushed and quick. "Now give him that two hundred dollars, Rodney, and proceed to the next shop."

Rodney visited a total of nine shops, and then he and Brock returned to the humvee. Edward had only intervened at the one stop.

"All right. Head for the southern fuel depot." Edward put the vehicle into gear, and followed Frankie as she drove cautiously down the narrow street. The humvee wasn't made for negotiating side streets.

"RRH calling MB," Edward intoned into the radio. I quirked an eyebrow at him, but he ignored me.

"Mother Bear here, Red Riding Hood," answered Shannon. I thought I could hear amusement in her tone.

"The package was taken by bandits to Nangarhar province." I knew enough to know this was bad. Parts of Nangarhar were crawling with bandits eking out a living from the peasants cultivating opium.

"Any further details?" asked Shannon.

"Sending my love, MB," he responded. He was driving with one hand, and furiously typing with his other into his satellite phone.

"Love is a wonderful thing. Stand by. Mother Bear out."

Edward hung up the radio and continued to drive. Silently. I checked my microphone, which was still up.

"When exactly did you get all this information?" I asked quietly.

"One of the shop owners is an informant. I used him once before."

"The one who spoke German?"

"Yes."

"If you knew him, why send Rodney to do all those other interrogations?"

"Lt. Jones was doing his job. And the reason we don't single out our informant is to prevent him from being found floating in a river with his tongue cut out tomorrow. We were just another group of dumb soldiers looking for the kidnap victim."

* * *

The special ops tactical center at Bagram was full when I slipped in. There was a heated debate going on about the missing 2nd Lt. Trace, and I was able to slip in without too much notice. It gave me time to survey the room. I recognized the faces of most of the major players. There were some assorted techies working on computers around the room, and a few people observing like me. I estimated that all but one were assistants to the big players. The last man was, I guessed, CIA. I deduced this from his lack of uniform. There were no embedded journalists in the SOTC. His eyes came up to mine, and then narrowed. He didn't recognize me, of that I was sure, but he recognized _what_ I was.

It wasn't long before I learned the exact location of Trace's disappearance, which I relayed to Heinz to pass on to the field team. I looked up at the big monitors. One was showing the nearly empty special ops tactical center in DC, our cleaner, better-equipped counterpart. There was a tech in DC communicating with one of the techs here; while the image was on-screen, the audio was private. Another screen was showing a satellite image of Kabul, and the third was showing satellite images from a mountainous area. Apparently, there was unusual activity at the site and someone was putting eyes on it.

"So, visiting from Washington, Colonel?" My interrogator was athletic, but average in every way, including looks. Wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and six feet in height, he looked like he was designed specifically to blend in wherever he was. He had pegged me for military intelligence and a Pentagon liaison.

"I assume you're visiting from Langley," I parried back. He didn't respond, but he smirked a bit. I hated the civilian spooks. If I heard one more joke about military intelligence, I was going to go postal.

"Any insights about Trace's disappearance?" CIA guy asked coyly. He seemed smarter than the average bear; he had checked out the whole room and decided I was his best bet. Or else the most talkative.

"None here. Why? Are you offering a trade?" His very presence was highly suggestive. Sure, Trace's mother the senator guaranteed his disappearance would receive high priority, but CIA guy made me think there was more behind this than a random Taliban kidnapping.

"I can't trade if you've got nothing to share." He wandered away, clearly disappointed by our interaction. I was unfazed since I had found the content of the conversation boring – his value to me was in his presence here.

I filed those thoughts away for another time as the meeting of the minds was beginning to break up. I moved forward to introduce myself to General John McClellan. I saluted the leader of the Joint Special Operations Task Force in Afghanistan. "Colonel McCarty, Pentagon liaison." It wasn't entirely accurate, but it was my authorized persona for this mission.

"Colonel," he barked back. "I don't like the Pentagon reading over my shoulder and butting in like this." General McClellan was well-known for his blunt style. He was older than I was by about ten years, and carried himself like the confident, experienced leader that he was. He was still physically intimidating, the same height as I was if not as burly, and very fit.

"No, sir," I agreed. Didn't mean I would accommodate his prurient interest in my team's activities.

"What do your bosses expect to find here?" he demanded.

"Your command is not under attack, sir," I tried to assure him. "As you might imagine, they're under a certain amount of pressure in these delicate circumstances."

"So, they send you over on a cargo plane which has to unload in secret." This last was spoken quietly enough that the lingering (eavesdropping) underlings and CIA guy couldn't quite hear.

"I'm not authorized to discuss that with you, sir," I offered apologetically.

"And your aides get a private work area," he added in a hissing undertone, his anger palpable. "What exactly should I be thinking now, Colonel? A high-ranking Pentagon Special Ops commander is sent out to watch me and gets a private work area which is, apparently, not under my command."

"Sir, I can't tell you what to think. For my part, I hope that in 24 hours I'm on my way out the door and 2nd Lt. Trace is back in your capable hands." I gazed at him with a level look. Trace was our main priority here. Gen. McClellan was surely more aware than I was that the clock was ticking.

McClellan laughed once, a sharp burst of noise. "You'll do, Colonel. If only everyone from the Pentagon had as much sense. And you're a damn sight more pleasant than our friend from Langley. Now, get to work and try not to disrupt my people from their jobs."

I saluted again at dismissal, and went out to visit Heinz.

* * *

We sat at the fuel depot for nearly an hour. Much of that time was spent waiting for our turn at refueling. I could feel Edward's tension ratcheting up by the minute. His outward facial expression was the same slightly hostile scowl he had been wearing since we were told to stand by, but he was alternately fidgeting by beating time on the steering wheel or else freezing into a motionless statue. I, in turn, tried my best to ignore him. I looked everywhere but at his face. With nothing to do but wait, my thoughts had been going into disturbing directions. My initial reaction to Edward back at the facility had been shock at his other-worldly beauty and the way he exuded power. Now that the initial shock of flying around the world for an unknown and dangerous mission was beginning to wear off, I was becoming very aware of the powerful male body in the cab with me. I reminded myself that he was a patient. Close proximity had brought another revelation about Edward: he smelled amazing. Even though I was actively avoiding the open scrutiny of his features, I could still smell him. I wanted to lean over and bury my nose in his neck. I reminded myself again that he was a patient.

"How much longer, do you think?" I finally asked. We'd both been silent since he'd painted such a colorful picture of what would happen to an informant if discovered.

"It depends on how quickly Heinz can get access to the satellite imagery from the area I think the bandit hideout may be. The informant wasn't very clear on those points." Edward continued scowling out the windshield. Apparently, there was something fascinating on the back of Frankie's humvee.

"I know you like music," I said. Surely this topic was safe. "Any reason you've got so much vinyl in this day of CDs and downloads?"

"Are we seriously discussing this now?" he asked in irritation.

"You don't like to talk about yourself or your past or previous assignments if you can avoid it. This seemed safe."

Edward sighed and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "I don't like the sound of the digitized music."

"What? Really?" I tried to imagine why.

"Digital sampling misses certain frequencies, and I can tell the difference when I listen. There are a lot of vinyl aficionados out there," he added, somewhat defensively. "Of course, I prefer a live performance, but I haven't had many opportunities for that recently."

And suddenly the topic had twisted back around to his situation. I had to wonder, if Edward was so dangerous, why would Heinz and McCarty stick me in this tiny cab with him? Suddenly, something about Edward's comments struck me.

"Just how good is your hearing, Edward?" I asked in a strangled tone. I noticed his hands stilled on the wheel, and his body appeared to get more rigid, if that was possible.

"It's excellent, like all my senses," he answered, nearly in a whisper.

"Oh." Had he heard me crying in the bathroom on the plane? It had been so noisy. I snuck a look at him, and found his golden eyes on me. We shared a look for several moments; I couldn't tear my eyes from his expressive eyes. I'm not sure what emotion was on my face, but his held…compassion? Concern? He began to open his mouth to speak, when the radio buzzed.

"Papa Bear says wait until twilight and then look for the mailbox. Sending our love." The moment was broken, and I could see Edward retreat back into himself, his face hardening as he picked up the sat phone and returned to his contemplation of the humvee before us.

**AN2: Next chapter will see our intrepid team in Nangarhar province searching for…traces of Trace. I had to do it once; just be glad it was in the AN and not the story.**

**I've been working on AoA (yeah, sure, Gleena), and that next chapter is nearing completion – it's a complete draft, but not quite ready for posting. I had to give it a little space, and that space resulted in this chapter.**

**The Cold War made it to the final round at the Indies (only five in each category in the final round)! I encourage everyone to visit their website, theindietwificawards dot com. You can vote for whomever you like from 3/15 until 3/24/2010.**


	8. Bandits

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Thanks so much to ebhg for previewing, beta-ing, re-reading, etc!**

**Happy Easter!**

"_Papa Bear says wait until twilight and then look for the mailbox. Sending our love." The moment was broken, and I could see Edward retreat back into himself, his face hardening as he picked up the sat phone and returned to his contemplation of the humvee before us._

Ch. 8. Bandits

"Col. McCarty, I've got the transmission from Maj. Edward." Shannon pulled up a map of Nangarhar province, honing in on an area between two jutting foothills of the Safed Koh mountains. It was about 15 miles, or at least 2 hours of hard driving off the road between Kabul to Jalalabad. "It's bandit country, sir. He can't narrow down the likely hideout any further."

"Not bad work," I commented, although Maj. Heinz muttered under his breath beside me. "Can you get the satellite photos of the region? Maybe we can see movement in the area over the last 48." The room I had commandeered for my team to work was cramped, and I felt like Shannon was working in my armpit and Heinz was closer than I preferred any other man to be.

"Yes, sir. I'll have it up in jiff." Shannon started typing furiously on her beloved equipment.

"Any other news?" I asked Heinz.

"No, sir. Lt. Jones did his usual work on the door-to-door. Apparently, Edward had an informant in the area, and he used some sort of code to get the intel." I nodded in agreement. It was an excellent cover story. I knew why Heinz was annoyed with Edward – he had the apparent contacts everywhere and was even more facile with language than Rodney, but he never did the door-to-door. He might have looked arrogant to the team and to Maj. Heinz, but Edward's identity and true skill set had been a closely guarded secret for my entire career. Which reminded me.

"CIA has a presence on the base," I informed Heinz. Shannon's hands froze over her keyboard for a brief moment before the rapid clicking restarted.

"Damn."

"Not the word I would use, but it will do," I agreed. My word was the same length, but a tad more vulgar. "He spotted me, of course, but I managed to convince him I was a Pentagon lackey idiot."

"Good job, sir," Heinz responded, with something close to a smile.

"It's what I do best," I sighed.

"I've got the sat imagery, Colonel." Shannon started a short animation of the still shots beginning at the time of the kidnapping. After a delay of about six hours, there was clear activity, with trucks moving in and out of a small compound.

"Looks fortified, sir," commented Heinz. "Maybe fifty men?"

"Yeah. Sonofagun. This isn't going to be a waltz. They've got trucks." I started to add to my list of words, all of them short and harsh.

"Probably means artillery, sir. Maybe RPGs and antiaircraft."

"Here are the shots from this morning, sir," Shannon cut in. "It looks like three of the trucks are gone, and they've not returned as of the most current data."

"They may have moved him over night." I sighed again. If Trace wasn't in the compound and alive, our job was over regardless. We had until about sunrise, and the lid would blow on the situation. Our brand of covert ops – in, done, out, and gone – would no longer be possible. I already had the plane ordered for the team to head back to DC. I hoped that if Trace had been moved that Edward would at least find someone who knew where he'd been taken. I amended that thought to include the hope that Edward would find someone and leave him alive long enough to get the information.

"Send the team maps and coordinates. I want them on the move when twilight hits."

* * *

I cleared my dry throat and fiddled with the seatbelt. "Edward, what exactly is the mailbox?"

"Code. We're looking for the package – 2nd Lt. Trace. The mailbox is where we find the package." His tone was clipped, and his eyes didn't budge from their position at twelve o'clock. He made a slight movement away from me and toward his cracked window. I knew I couldn't smell good after an anxious 24 hours without bathing. With his heightened senses, Edward was probably wallowing in my B.O., and I knew he didn't much like my scent to begin with.

It was already late afternoon, so I imagined twilight and our orders to move would come sooner than I liked. My stomach made an obscenely loud noise.

"You should eat. There are a few MREs and water bottles under the seat. And then you should try to get some rest. We'll have a long night."

I pulled out water and an MRE. "Spaghetti. Mmm," I commented sarcastically as I prepped the package. "Anything for you?"

"No." He smirked slightly as he stared out the windshield, and I stared a little too hard at his sculpted profile. "Special diet."

"Right." I took a few bites of my meal, ready-to-eat. The food was edible, if edible was defined by not having to heave the food back up. It's funny how your standards can change under different conditions. I hoped Edward's special diet tasted better. "Do you need me to take a watch? I mean, I doubt I'm the one who's going to be doing the dirty work tonight."

"No. I don't need a lot of sleep." I started listing Edward's special abilities in my head. Super speed, super hearing (and apparently overall excellent senses), knowledge of languages, and a low need for sleep. I wondered why there weren't more of him. It wasn't like the army to stop at just one. Of course, he had been deemed dangerous. I wondered if the side-effects of whatever treatment he had received had been too severe. The special diet?? That wasn't exactly a super power. Maybe he had to take a lot of special vitamins, or maybe he was like those dinosaurs in Jurassic Park who couldn't synthesize their own lysine.

My thoughts twisted together as I drowsed, and a predatory Edward's eyes gleamed in the dark at me while a T Rex shook our ambulance. The dream slowly changed, with a brief interlude where Jeff Goldblum encouraged me to go faster, and I was in another ambulance, in a street where fog mixed with the smoke from explosions. The smells came back to me; burning oil, gunpowder, the metallic tang of blood. I turned my head slowly to see Pvt. Grace's eyes slowly glaze over, his hand falling away from his bloody chest. Through the spider-webbed windshield, I saw a figure coming toward me in the mist, menacing, deadly, and I knew I would have to kill him. "No!" I yelled, and jerked awake. The sun was setting behind me, and the sky in front of me had already turned purple with twilight. My door opened, and I jumped.

"Sorry, did you call?" asked Edward. "We're about to go, and I needed to talk with Rick and Brock."

"Mm. I'm fine. I must have been dreaming." Edward closed my door and came around to the driver's side. I shook the remaining bits of the dream from my mind.

We set off on the highway toward Jalalabad, towards the border with Pakistan. We were heading into really rough terrain. It was bandit country, prime opium-producing land, and the mountains were the hideout for bandits, Taliban fighters, and Al Qaeda. Somehow, I was less intimidated by the potential dangers than I was by my own inadequacies. I wasn't trained for this, but Edward's presence was comforting in some way. He seemed confident and prepared.

After we left the city behind, full darkness descended. Twice, Edward had ordered our small convoy off the road, far enough away that we wouldn't be visible in headlights. Only moments later, vehicles would pass from the opposite direction. I wasn't sure how he knew they were approaching, but no one questioned him.

About three hours into our drive, Edward ordered us off the road again, this time having us park behind a hill which obscured us from the highway.

"We're getting very close," Edward told me as he put the ambulance into parking gear. "I'm going to take about an hour to check out the situation. We need a better fix on their numbers and deployment. I'll send Brock to sit with you."

Edward jumped out of the vehicle and walked to the humvee in front of us. He had a short conversation, and then Brock followed him back, climbing into the driver's seat. Edward proceeded to walk behind the ambulance, presumably to talk with those in the vehicle behind us. He didn't reappear.

"Sorry you have to babysit," I said apologetically. There was no moon out, and with all the vehicles off, it was dark and very quiet.

"Not an issue. No way would we leave Major Newbie in the vehicle alone." Brock took a leisurely pose on the seat.

"Do you know what the plan is?" I asked, ignoring his good-natured jab.

"We don't have a fully-fleshed plan yet, other than attempt to rescue Trace. When Edward gets back, he'll have a plan."

"Is that usually what happens?" I wondered if it would break their team rules if he answered.

"He usually comes back from scouting missions with excellent intel. He sees everything, and he can usually plan out an attack or an infiltration. His tactical senses are good. We would lose a lot more people without him."

I wanted to ask more, but the middle of a dangerous mission seemed like a terrible time for therapy.

"Behind Edward, I usually kill the most people," murmured Brock. "I can do hand-to-hand, but I'm more comfortable with weapons. It's my job to go in guns blazing, so to speak. I'm not subtle like Rick and Jack and Franky."

"Does it bother you, that you kill more people?" If he was going to bring it up, I would do what I could for him.

"I think it should, but it doesn't."

"You're doing your job, fulfilling missions and preventing more casualties to the team," I offered.

"Yes, exactly. This is my role, to take out the front line in a combat situation." Brock seemed relieved.

"You don't have to feel bad for doing your job," I assured him.

Brock seemed to relax then, and we both sat in silence as the time ticked away. I dozed intermittently.

"He's back," Brock said quietly, rousing me from a dreamless power nap. "He's a lot later than he said. He wants to talk to the team." We both got out of the car and joined the rest. Edward stood in front of us, and he was just visible in the starlight.

"Use your flashlight," Edward told Rick. Obediently, Rick flicked on a small maglite, and pointed it at Edward's chest. He began to diagram with his fingers over his uniform. "We have about five miles until we reach the compound, which is set between two foothills. It's a good defensible position, and they have about twenty men inside. They also have eight men guarding the road to the compound." I watched the others in the reflected light, and they were raptly watching the "map" Edward was sketching of the layout of the compound. Once we passed the ambush on the road, Edward would split the team into three fighting groups. Edward himself would go in first, taking out as many as he could in the heavily guarded main building. Brock and Rick would take out a secondary building holding another six or eight men, and Franky and Jack would follow Edward, picking up anyone he missed. I was to stay with Mitch and Rodney. We would be guarding the vehicles and the frequency jamming equipment. No one would be able to use radio, cell, or satellite communications for a mile radius.

"The bad news is that the intel we heard out of Bagram was good. There are a lot of men and a lot of weapons, more than any bandits should have. The good news is that while I couldn't be sure, I think Trace is still in the compound." I detected frustration in Edward's tone. I didn't think he was used to being uncertain. "That means we have to move fast and quietly, or they'll kill him before we can get to him."

"Somehow, I think we're faster," commented Rodney. "And by 'we,' I mean you."

Edward grunted in response, and the maglite caught his eyes, which seemed to be glowing a very pale gold color.

Rick and Jack asked a few more questions about the compound's layout and how far back we needed to park, and when they were satisfied, we split up into our vehicles.

When we were driving again, Edward began lecturing me. "Stay with Mitch. Under no circumstances are you to go off on your own."

"Don't worry. I have no desire to play hero."

"Mitch can keep his head on his shoulders in a fight. He knows how to get out alive. Rodney will lose his cool if things get hot. He won't remember that you're with him."

"I got it. Stay with the big bald guy, not the hot, flirty blonde guy."

Edward frowned. "Lt. Jones has a girlfriend, of sorts."

"I realize that he and Shannon appear to be together," I returned. "I'm trying for a light-hearted atmosphere so I don't puke all over your shoes."

"Your service record shows you could have qualified as a Squad Designated Marksman, at least at one time," he said without preamble. I was flustered by Edward's sudden change of subject.

"'At one time' being the operative phrase. I haven't done competitive shooting since college." No need to mention why.

"Do you know how to use my rifle?" Edward gestured with his head to the sniper's rifle behind us.

"I've used one before, but I don't like messing with other people's equipment." I didn't say aloud that I didn't like what I had to do in my head to make good shots. I could hit targets, and I could hit living targets. I'd done it before when the alternative was dying. It wasn't taking the shot that was difficult; it was living with myself afterwards.

"It's all right. The M16 won't be as useful in the ambush. I can take out half the men before the others know what's happening, but I can't get them all unless I'm very lucky. They're split on opposite sides of the road."

"Isn't Franky a sharpshooter?" I asked. I was having a hard time keeping track of everyone's skill sets. I felt a little guilt for pushing this on her.

"She'll be busy as well. This will go better if we can take out the last three men with two shots or less."

"Two shots or less?"

"One from you, one from Franky, and I'll get whoever's left. If your man doesn't make a break for it, then I've got him. It's really just a precaution. I don't want to take the chance that one of you will get hit because I wasn't fast enough." Edward paused and used the radio. "RRH calling Mama Bear."

"This is Mama Bear." Shannon's voice crackled with static.

"We're going to bed for the night."

"Understood Red Riding Hood. Watch out for the wolves. Over."

"Over."

"What was that for?" I asked.

"We're maintaining radio silence now. We're about to turn on the jamming equipment. It helps us because we cut off their communication. Unfortunately, we'll be just as much in the dark as they are." Edward switched to his headset microphone. "Mitch, is the equipment ready?"

Mitch's voice came through the headset I wore. "Ready to go."

"All right. Turn it on when I stop us in five. Everyone shut off headlights and use the night vision." Edward cut the lights on the ambulance, and the road went dark.

"Let me guess," I ventured. "You don't need night vision goggles."

"Not at all. But there is a night vision scope on the rifle. You'll need it."

Five minutes later, Edward ordered a halt to the vehicles and for Mitch to activate the frequency-jamming equipment.

We all quietly exited the vehicles and gathered near Edward. Franky was already setting up her rifle on the hood of the humvee, and Edward helped me set up next to her.

"If you see a head come up over that hill in your scope, you have to fire," Edward informed me. "Don't change the angle now, or you'll lose the shot. Edward showed Franky where to watch for her target. "I'd prefer if you didn't have to take these shots. I think we're far enough that no one from the compound would hear, but sometimes sound carries."

Edward suddenly tilted his head, and then he peered down the side road. "They've set up an IED in the road. We'll have to off-road to avoid it."

"Show me," Brock asked. He had night vision binoculars out. Edward pointed out what he described as a disturbance in the soil, and after a minute, Brock agreed that he could see it.

"This should be easy," Edward said, clapping Brock on the back. He checked my scope again, and then seemed to coil like a spring. The crescent moon was up, and I could see that Edward's face had hardened and his eyes had darkened under his angry brow line. He looked frightening and awesome. I sensed he was preparing for the fight, and his words to Rodney in DC came back to me. _If I look like I'm going to fight, you can assume someone is going to die._

"Ready?" he asked the team.

"Yes, sir!" we returned in a whispered cheer. And then he was gone.

I bent to my scope, watching with my eye unblinking for any sign of movement. Not a head or a man, just a target, I told myself. I used a few mental exercises Charlie had taught me for zoning out thoughts and staying calm.

It was all for nothing, but I certainly wasn't complaining. Neither Franky or I had needed to take our shots. It was less than three minutes before Edward was back. His eyes were bright, and his hair was windblown from the speed of his running. There was no way to describe him, except to say that he was alive and vibrant with a terrible beauty. _He just killed eight men._

"Let's go. We need to get to the end of this valley where the road cuts up to the east. I want us on top of them before anyone tries to call one of these guys on their phone." Edward handed a phone to Rodney.

"That's a high end sat phone. Why does a bandit have a sat phone?" asked Rodney, turning the phone back and forth in his hands.

"Very good question. Don't lose it. Shannon will want to see it. There will be more questions after you see the compound."

We split into our vehicles, and I glanced at Edward from the corner of my eye. "I guess you didn't have trouble getting them all."

"None to speak of." He looked at me. "Are you afraid?"

"Of this mission? Of what comes next?"

"No. Are you afraid of _me_?"

I had to consider that question carefully. "I am impressed with your skills." That sounded better than what I was really thinking – that his speed and power were combined with incredible male beauty and a fascinating mind. And a scent I could describe only as alluring. I was hanging on to professionalism by the thinnest thread. "But I'm not afraid of you. I don't think you would hurt me."

"Don't believe that," Edward demanded harshly. "When I'm fighting, I can lose control. It would be very bad for you if you came near me when I was like that." The steering wheel made a cracking noise; he released one hand which dropped into his lap and forcibly relaxed his shoulders.

"Is that what happened that first time?" I remembered the way he had yelled at me, commanding that I leave his presence. It was the first time I had noticed how displeased he was at my smell. I pulled my arms down tightly against my sides and shifted a little away from him. There was no way for him to escape me in the cab. I remembered him cracking the window earlier in the day, and I felt a hot flush come over my face.

"Something like that. Just, please, stay with Mitch. Don't leave the vehicles." For the first time, Edward turned to me and looked deep into my eyes with his light golden ones. His face was pleading, and my breath caught. I lost myself for a moment, caught by the sincerity in his eyes. It was such a contrast from the harsh demeanor from moments ago. I had a brief insight into the man that he was instead of the super soldier he had been molded into. "Major Swan?"

"Uh, yes. I already told you I would stay with Mitch." I turned away, disgusted with myself for losing control. He had superpowers of strength and speed, but his most lethal weapon might have been his penetrating gaze and his chiseled jaw. Gah.

I didn't have time to be embarrassed because we had reached the point where Edward wanted us to stop. We were close enough, apparently, to jam their communications but far enough that they wouldn't have heard us arrive. He and the others involved in the assault would hike from the vehicles to the compound. I climbed out of the ambulance, shouldering the M16. I joined Mitch and Rodney who were similarly armed as the others set off. The night was chilly, but I was far too tense to feel it through the uniform.

"With all the communication out, how will we know when to join them or if they need our help?" I asked quietly.

"This is like a 10 second stroll for Edward. He'll let us know." Mitch was calm and relaxed, at least on the surface.

"Hey, how come no one ever warned me about not challenging Edward to a fight?" asked Rodney in a whisper. "I mean, we all see the _results_ of what he can do, but we never really see him _do_ anything. How was I supposed to know?"

Mitch laughed soundlessly. "I guess no one thought you were that clueless." I shook my head.

"How long will this take?" I asked. My nerves were starting to fray as worst-case scenarios started to crop up in my head.

"It will be a while before they all get there. Edward will be sweeping for booby traps. The others will move as fast as they can. Once they're in the compound, I imagine it will be fast. Edward will knock out as many as he can on his way to finding Trace, and others will secure the compound behind him." It was the longest speech I'd heard from Mitch.

"The tricky part is that Edward has to get to Trace before anyone sounds an alarm. You can bet there's someone ready to kill Trace if a rescue mission is in progress," Rodney said grimly, no trace of his characteristic humor. "Once he finds Trace, he might be stuck defending him. It depends on what condition the kid is in."

"Kid?" I asked. I didn't know much about our "package," other than that his mother was a senator from Maine and that his rank was second lieutenant.

"He took early graduation from college. He's just turned 21." Rodney paused at my surprised look. "We got sent the file earlier when we were waiting at the gas depot. Didn't Edward show you?"

"No. I napped for a while." I wondered if Edward had planned to share the information with me; it wasn't like I needed it to stand here at the humvee with Mitch and Rodney.

The quiet of the chilly night was broken by the staccato sounds of machine gun fire. All three of us unconsciously changed our stances, grasping our weapons more securely. It was unlikely that anyone would get as far as we were, but we were directly in the road. Memories surfaced like disturbed leaves from the bottom of a stagnant pond. I was used to being on the edge of a skirmish; the medic teams were often in the line of fire although not participating in the actual fight. The nerves, the anxiety, the churning stomach were all old acquaintances. I worried that the plan would fall apart, that our team was underprepared, and that someone would be hurt or killed. I worried that I would hesitate or freeze if I was forced to take action. It was irrational, knowing his abilities, but I was afraid for Edward. I suspected that he felt responsible for every action of every team member during the operation. I could also feel the tension roiling off Rodney, who was muttering under his breath, his eyes transfixed where the road disappeared around a bend in the foothills. Mitch stood ready, but somehow unperturbed.

Another round of fire sounded, causing me to flinch slightly. The adrenaline surging through me sharpened every sense, my fight or flight response in high gear.

And then he was there before us in a swirl of wind. "Come on, we need the vehicles." Edward jumped into the ambulance, and I climbed into the passenger seat. I felt myself coming down rapidly from my adrenaline high; although I knew danger was still present, I felt secure knowing Edward was next to me.

"What happened?" I asked.

He smirked as we lurched up a steep and bumpy incline, and I saw in the dash lights that he was as alive, as vivid as when he had returned from disrupting the ambush. For a moment, the harshness of his life had been lifted and he was just himself, doing his job and doing it well. "The plan was good. The team was good. We found Trace, but there is a slight complication. Stay with me, close to me, when we get into the compound."

A moment later, he was parking between Mitch and Rodney in an open area with several armored vehicles. The three buildings, if they could be called that, were makeshift structures of odds and ends of various materials – siding, wood, concrete block in some places. They were roofed in some corrugated material. There was a distinct contrast between the armored vehicles and the shoddy, slapdash buildings. More attention had been given to a concrete block wall behind us; the armored vehicles could be used to block the entrance. There was natural protection on the far side of the buildings from the steep slope of the foothill.

"Come on. In here. Mitch, I need you. Rodney, see to Franky. She was hit." Edward practically dragged me behind him as he entered the largest building. I barely had time to worry about Franky as I hurried after him. Rick and Jack were dragging bodies as we passed them, and I turned my head away from the blood, my nose wrinkling from the smell. How many had been killed tonight?

We must have reached the back of the building when Edward pulled open a door. In a small room, an American soldier lay on an odd table, unconscious and restrained. His face was purple with bruises, and it looked like the hand I could see was broken, the fingers swollen and distorted.

"Sick," said Mitch in disgust.

"He's out; he's not feeling it right now. I need you to look at this table. It's wired." Edward looked intently at Mitch, and I remembered that his specialties were explosives and vehicles. Mitch dropped to the floor and slid under the table on his back, a maglite out. He flicked the light back and forth. Edward's head cocked slightly as he watched Mitch intently.

"Should I grab the medical supplies? I could work on Trace while we wait."

"No. He can't be touched until Mitch analyzes these explosives."

"No timer. I don't see anything for remote detonation." Edward released a breath as Mitch kept flashing the light back and forth. My eyes got wider as I realized I was in a room with a bomb which could go off at any moment. "This is sophisticated. It would take me a while to defuse. It would be easier to just explode the damn thing after we get him out." There was a long pause while Mitch continued his work. I heard Edward hiss and Mitch curse simultaneously. "There's a pressure switch. We can't move the kid."

Poor 2nd Lt. Trace took that moment to groan and shift, causing all three of us to jump. "I guess that's why they tied him down," commented Mitch. "There's something wrong with this setup. It's too good. This isn't something you learn in IED school, and these switches are not easy to come by."

"This is adding up to something we weren't expecting," agreed Edward. "I think we need to alert our Papa. Both of you stay put. You," he turned to me, "touch nothing and pay attention to anything Mitch tells you."

"Yes, sir," I responded automatically. He was gone in between blinks. "Maybe you should start calling him The Flash instead of Red Riding Hood." The Flash wore a red suit, right?

Mitch grunted. "I don't make that crap up. Blame Shannon or the Colonel." He was kneeling now, brushing wires gently with one sausage-sized fingertip. He looked like he was counting in his head, his lips moving silently, and I decided not to speak unless spoken to. I was not interested in being the cause of him losing track of his count.

Trace groaned again, and started moving more vigorously. "Try to keep him still, but don't push down on him," barked Mitch. He was as tense I'd seen him yet. I stepped hurriedly over to Trace's side.

"Shhh," I hushed, trying to calm him without disturbing his body. "We're the rescue team. We need you to keep still."

Trace's eyelids fluttered, and blinked rapidly, looking into my face. "It hurts," he croaked out, and one tear slipped out of his eye. I could see now that his other hand had been broken as well. He'd been beaten badly, and probably tortured. I could only imagine what he looked like under his uniform since every inch of exposed skin was either purple, red, or swollen.

"We know it hurts, but we can't risk moving you yet. Do you remember anything about the attack?"

"Mom? Is she okay?" Trace's eyes started to flit nervously, and I had a feeling I was losing him to delirium.

Edward reappeared with a medical bag. "Give him morphine. Everything will be easier if he's under."

I fiddled through the medical bag, finding what I needed. I got up to inject him, and Edward ripped Trace's sleeve open for me with a quick flick of his hands.

"What if I get the others to move him, and I hold down the bench?" asked Edward, turning to Mitch.

"It could work, but it would have to be fast," Mitch replied. "And you'd need to apply almost the same force as his weight."

"I'm injecting you now, please try to be still," I encouraged Trace.

"I can do fast," Edward smirked. "How much do you think he weighs?"

"I'd say 180," Mitch responded absently. He was still peering at the underside of the table.

"I agree," I chimed in. I didn't consider myself an expert, but it sounded right.

"How far away do you need to be for safety?" asked Edward.

"I'm calculating. This bomb is definitely overkill. If I didn't know better, I'd say someone was planning to take out the compound with this bomb at the same time they took out Trace."

"Let's do their dirty work, then," said Edward suddenly. "Get the other buildings wired, and then we'll blow the whole thing. But we need to get some of the men out of here."

"Oh? Did you leave any of them?" Mitch appeared surprised.

"The warlord here and his band of not-so-merry men had made a habit of taking men and boys from farms they considered unproductive. Most of the men in the ambush were cannon fodder, just kids forced into service. Their brothers and fathers were the ones in that smaller building. We've got them under guard, but we didn't kill them. Rodney's talking to them now. If we let them go, they're going to disperse. There's no one left here to terrorize them anymore." Edward's face had grown increasingly grim during his speech.

"What about the boys in the ambush?" I asked quietly.

"Oh, I knocked them out. There was one real bandit with them; he was the one with the phone. He won't be waking up." Edward's lips were pressed together in a tight line. I felt a wave of relief in learning he had spared these boys.

"I'll set up the explosives in the other buildings now," said Mitch. "We can move the kid when I'm done. What kind of time are we talking about?"

"I want everyone out in forty-five minutes. Some of the trucks that left yesterday may be returning before dawn."

"Yes, sir." Mitch trotted out, leaving us behind with the now-unconscious Trace.

"What would your superiors say about letting all these men go?" I asked.

"Do you mean Heinz and McCarty, or the ones above them?" he asked back.

"The ones above."

"They wouldn't like it. Technically, I'm letting terrorists go free. But then again, they don't have to find out. None of the men we're releasing will be announcing what we did to anyone."

"How do you know there aren't a few bandits left among the remaining men?"

"Trust, me, I know. But even if I didn't, the remaining men would take him out before he took ten steps outside this compound."

I was startled by crackling sounds through my headset, followed by Brock's voice. "We asked this one all the questions you gave us, Major. We know his English is fine, but he's not answering us."

"Don't worry about it, Brock. I'm not taking him, and we can't leave him alive."

"Yes, sir."

I heard a single shot, muffled by the thin walls of the building. I flinched.

"I'm sorry, Major Swan. This is what we do. What I do." Edward looked at me as though giving me a warning, but I felt I could see something deeper in his eyes. A little sadness, maybe. "Stay here."

"I know, and don't touch anything," I added in.

"You learn fast. I'm going to bring some of those concrete blocks in."

Edward made three trips, building up a pile of concrete in the room with us. "It's almost exactly 180 pounds," he said. "I can load them on the table after everyone is at a safe distance. Then I'll stroll out, and we'll blow the compound by remote."

"How bad is Franky?"

"Not bad. She took a bullet in the upper arm. It went straight through. There was blood, but it didn't hit any major blood vessels." Edward's nose twitched, and I wondered if he was as bothered by the smell of blood as I was. It didn't make sense for an assassin, though.

My headset crackled again. "All the men are gone, sir," Rodney announced.

"Good. Search that building for anything useful – documents or computers – and then check the trucks while you're at it."

"Sir!"

Brock came to the door. "He had this on him." He tossed Edward a small object, which Edward caught. It was a USB flash drive. Edward examined it briefly, and then tossed it back to Brock.

"You hang onto it. I'm heading out last. We need to get the phones and the computers to Shannon." I realized the implication was that Edward didn't trust that he would make it out. Brock nodded his understanding, and tucked the flash drive into the velcroed pocket on his chest.

Jack and Rick appeared next, with Mitch on their heels. Edward looked around the room, his face set in serious concentration. I wondered what he was thinking, or deciding.

"The charges are set?" he asked Mitch.

"Yes, sir. Remote is here." He held out a small device. "It's got enough range for us to get out of harm's way. I'm just going to add a detonator here." He leaned over and attached a small device under the table. "It'll all go at once."

"All the documents and computers loaded?" he asked Rick and Jack.

"Yes, sir," Jack responded. "And Franky is in the back of the ambulance."

"Take Major Swan," he told Jack. "Send out the first humvee with Rick and Franky. You drive the ambulance. When Mitch and Brock bring out Trace, get him in the back of the ambulance with Major Swan and Rodney. Mitch and Brock will take the last humvee. When you get to safety, let me know, and I'll join you shortly."

"Yes, sir!" We exited the building swiftly, leaving Mitch, Brock, and Edward. He had just decided who would stand with him while they made the dangerous transfer, removing Trace from the exploding table. The first humvee pulled away as I climbed into the back of the ambulance. I checked over the medical supplies, fidgeting as I waited for the men to appear or for the end of existence. We would need to set up an IV line for Trace once we were moving again; he seemed dehydrated. There were cold packs, so we could start taking down the swelling in his hands. I wasn't interested in trying to set anything; hands were too delicate. He needed a skilled doctor. I knew I was jerking erratically from one object to the next.

"He knows what he's doing," Rodney said, interrupting my nervous fidgeting.

"He seems like he does," I agreed, but my hands were shaking. It wasn't so bad when I'd been in the room with the bomb. At least then I'd known what was happening.

Brock and Mitch appeared in the open back door of the ambulance, and Rodney helped them get Trace settled.

"How was the transfer?" asked Rodney.

Brock shook his head, and I noted that Mitch looked a little pale under the bright lights in the back of the ambulance. Neither of these responses gave me confidence about the next phase of the operation. Edward would have to manually add the concrete blocks to the table while keeping the force constant, if I understood how this worked. If the transfer to get Trace off the table was difficult with three of them, I wondered how Edward would manage on his own.

Brock and Mitch jumped out the ambulance, and within seconds we were lurching down the steep road. Trace groaned in his sleep when we would hit a particularly large bump. I gingerly felt his ribs. None of them appeared broken, and his breathing was fine.

The headsets crackled, loud enough that I thought I could hear Rodney's as well as my own. "We're at a safe distance, Major."

"Roger, Mitch. Don't hit that button until you see me. Over."

Rodney opened the back of the ambulance and stepped out into the night. "I can't stand the waiting," he griped. I followed him out. We were the only ones without a window; we wouldn't be able to see when Edward arrived. Mitch, or whoever was driving the humvee behind us, switched off his headlights.

Three things happened very rapidly, but not all at once. The sky lit up with a bright red flare in the direction of the compound. My headset screeched so loudly in my ears that I reached up to pull it off defensively, barely aware that Rodney was doing the same with his. And then I was hit with a roaring sound and the pressure wave of the blast.

**AN2: Sorry for the evil cliffie. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm not sorry at all. ;)**

**Persephone's Folly has begun a second Sherlock Holmes/Carlisle adventure. The first one was great, and this one has started off with gore, suspense, and Carlisle(!). She's a fave author on my profile.**

**I will always encourage anyone who listens to read stories by ebhg and Justine Lark. They're also in my faves list!**


	9. Dressing Down

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: School's out for the summer! (Or at least for the month of May.) I meant to fix the cliffie I left several weeks ago, but I got stuck on this one part of the chapter. You can thank ebhg for kindly writing a few paragraphs in the middle and jump starting the process, as well as being my beta. More at the bottom.**

_Three things happened very rapidly, but not all at once. The sky lit up with a bright red flare in the direction of the compound. My headset screeched so loudly in my ears that I reached up to pull it off defensively, barely aware that Rodney was doing the same with his. And then I was hit with a roaring sound and the pressure wave of the blast._

Ch. 9. Dressing Down

"Holy crap." Rodney was staring in disbelief at the smoke cloud, lit red from below by what we assumed was the fiery remains of the bandits' compound.

Brock and Mitch were exiting their humvee; I noticed they had taken off their headsets as well.

"Do you think he got out?" Brock looked shell-shocked. Shooting a bandit in cold blood didn't perturb him, but the fact that Edward might be gone was shattering.

"I don't know how," said Mitch, his voice shaking. "He hadn't started the transfer at his last transmission. He wouldn't have tried until we were safely away."

"But he's so fast," I protested weakly. "He could have made it out." Could he have? He had just finished telling me on the plane that supersonic speeds were beyond him. Wasn't that required to escape an explosive blast? I wished I'd paid more attention in physics.

Jack, Rick and Franky joined us. I noticed the heavy bandage on Franky's left upper arm.

"What was the shrieking noise?" asked Franky, dangling her headset from a fingertip.

"I think it was Edward's headset – he was obviously really close to the blast," answered Mitch. His face looked sweaty and distressed in the eerie red glow from the distant blaze.

"Does that he mean he didn't make it out?" asked Rick, receiving only blank stares and a shrug as responses. It was probably the most I'd heard from him at once.

"Who's in command?" asked Jack, surveying the group. "Major Swan outranks all of us."

"Absolutely not me," I replied. "I'm only on this team as an observer. Pretend I'm an embedded journalist or something. I cannot command this unit."

"Why do we need a new commander?" Edward's smooth voice came over the hill.

"Holy crap!" Rodney repeated himself. "How? What happened?" I thought the only reason no one else had said anything was because we were all struck dumb. I could feel my mouth working, but nothing was coming out.

When Edward was close enough to see in the dim moonlight, I could see he was sporting a giant grin. His hair was completely disordered, and his headset appeared to be melted. He pulled it off and glanced at the useless equipment.

"That was definitely a rush," he said.

"What the hell?" demanded Mitch. "What happened?" His giant frame towered over the group, and his hands were fisted. The normally gentle man was radiating anger, a response to his extreme stress.

Edward had the decency to look ashamed for just a second before the smile burst forth again.

"Well, I was about to start the transfer, when I realized that if I made a mistake, I probably wouldn't have enough time to get away. So, I decided it would be better if I just made a break for it on my own terms. I figured the electronics in the switch would give me a microsecond or two, and thought I could run fast enough to keep ahead of the flaming part of the explosion. I wasn't sure how far I would get before the pressure wave hit me. I almost made it to that concrete wall, and the pressure wave knocked me for a loop, maybe 50-100 yards."

"You could have warned us," Mitch insisted.

"I am the commanding officer in the field. This was my decision and mine only." Edward's harsh response was marred when he broke out in a laugh. "I'm sorry. I haven't had that much excitement in a while. You can blame some of this on Major Swan."

"What!" I exclaimed. Everyone looked at me in surprise.

"You asked me if I was faster than a speeding bullet, but apparently I'm not as fast as I thought. I'll know next time." I stared at him incredulously as he grinned at me. He was, in that moment, adorably mischievous. Jack stepped forward to clap him on the back, but stopped suddenly.

"Uh, Edward, I think you need a new uniform." Jack was trying to suppress his own laughter. I could feel the giddiness starting up as well. The horrible moment was over, and we were all starting to lose it. Edward swiveled his head, peering over his shoulder.

"Oh. I guess the flame got a little closer than I thought." His jacket and t-shirt abruptly fell forward onto the ground, and then we could all see the back of his uniform had been singed to ash. "Do we have any spares?"

"Are you hurt?" I asked in horror, trying to ignore the chiseled perfect chest and abs that were luring my eyes against my will. I stepped behind him, but his back (oh lordy) was as smooth, white, and unblemished as his front. And just as muscled. And the seat of his pants was also slightly burnt. "Oops. Wardrobe malfunction about to occur." I stepped away quickly, averting my face. I caught Franky's eyes, and she mouthed "Oh my" to me.

"I think there's a scrub set in the back of the ambulance," Rodney said, a grin on his face.

"All right, everyone load up and get moving. We're on the clock here." Edward waved at us all to disperse, but he looked like he was going to break out in song at any moment. He was definitely not behaving like the scary super soldier we had left behind at the compound.

We split to the various vehicles. Edward took the back of the ambulance with me; apparently he had more medical experience than Rodney, who switched to the front of the ambulance. I started to examine Trace, who seemed to be sleeping calmly. I wanted to get the IV started, but thought I would see what Edward preferred.

"We should probably put him on an IV," Edward announced. I turned to look at him, and nearly gasped. He was standing with his naked back to me, pulling up his scrub pants. I caught an eyeful of his lower backside, and then jerked my head back to facing Trace. "Major Swan?"

"Uh, what?" I wasn't ever going to forget that sight. It was like being in the dressing room at a Calvin Klein underwear shoot. Was I drooling? I knew my eyes were still wide open with shock.

"Is something wrong?" Edward asked. He joined me at Trace's side, now fully clothed in green scrubs.

"No, nothing's wrong," I replied, my voice a little shaky. He was standing really close, much closer than we'd been since I'd taken a header into his lap on the plane.

"Super-hearing, remember? Your heart rate just took off. I thought you might have seen something with Trace." Edward spoke softly in the close quarters, his silky voice tickling my ear.

"No, I…" was just ogling you behind your back… "I guess the whole situation just hit me." Liar, liar, pants on fire. Oh, wait, no it was Edward's pants that were on fire. That's why he needed new pants…

"Major Swan, I said we should probably get Trace on an IV," Edward finally repeated. He was watching me with some concern.

"Right. IV." I busied myself while Edward did I had no idea what since I was studiously ignoring him. He came closer with a blood pressure cuff, and at that moment we hit a particularly bad rut. With my hands full, I couldn't steady myself, and I lurched into Edward's side. It was like hitting a brick wall.

"Steady, Major. The hard part of the mission is over. It would be a shame if you got injured now." His hands were on my waist, underneath my jacket. Even through my t-shirt, I could tell his hands were like ice.

"You're so cold," I said without thinking, as I looked up into his iridescent golden eyes. His face fell, and I could tell I had hurt him somehow. "I'm sorry, I just…I should have just thanked you for catching me."

"It's nothing," he responded. He didn't look at me again, and I desperately searched for some way of restoring his good humor. "Let me borrow your head-set, please. I believe mine was beyond repair." I handed him the set, and he adjusted it, still not looking at me. "Rodney, are we at the ambush site now? Good. We'll need to stop for a moment. I want Mitch to disable the IED before unsuspecting troops come in to investigate the explosion." He turned to me, his face unreadable. "Stay here with Trace." He jumped out the back, leaving me alone to watch the unconscious soldier.

A few minutes later, I felt a muffled rumble. I hoped it was Mitch taking care of the IED, presumably by exploding it. I supposed one more explosion wouldn't make us any more noticeable. A minute or two after the explosion the back doors opened, and Rodney jumped in with me.

"What's going on?" I asked. I didn't even have a headset at this point. I had been effectively cut off from the group.

"We're under way. Edward's driving. Since Trace is stable, he thought he would be better off up front. He has to communicate with Papa Bear, Mama Bear, and, dare I say it, Baby Bear?"

"Baby Bear?" I asked. The vehicle began moving, and I had a surge of disappointment. I liked Rodney, but Edward was beginning to fascinate me, and not just because he was beautiful, had superpowers, and that I had seen him half-naked.

"Major Heinz."

"Major Heinz isn't the Papa?"

"No, that's the Colonel. Heinz doesn't have a code name since he's always with Shannon." Rodney made a face. "So, how's the patient?"

We discussed Trace's injuries and status, and sat quietly for a bit.

"Edward told me that you're really good with languages," I commented. Rodney scratched his head, looking slightly embarrassed.

"It's a gift, I suppose. My dad travelled a lot, and I picked up a lot of languages as a kid. I wanted to be known for my mad fighting skills, but in this unit, I'm the pretty face who can charm the natives." I raised an eyebrow, and he snorted. "Yeah, and even so, he's still prettier and he can speak as many languages as I can." Rodney's comment was without jealousy.

"He does seem fairly competent," I said cautiously. I was guessing that Edward could hear our conversation; we were only separated by a thin metal wall. "So, um, you and Shannon, together?"

"Yeah," he responded, a smile causing his cheeks to dimple. "There's nothing wrong with it; we have the same rank."

"Of course. Does serving on the same team cause any difficulties?" I really had no ulterior motives for asking this question. None at all.

"Are you speaking as Major Swan, Dr. Swan, or some other kind of graceful waterfowl?" Rodney's eyes twinkled.

"Actually, I was just curious." I turned away to check on Trace since I could feel heat climbing my face. Our conversation stalled after that since I was having a post-adrenaline-rush crash of epic proportions. Rodney had just stood to check Trace's vitals, when he put a hand to his ear.

"We're pulling off," he told me, just as the ambulance began to lurch. Rodney steadied Trace while I gripped a hand-hold. "Edward says there's a unit on their way to investigate the explosion. We have to cover the vehicles." The ambulance stopped, and Rodney pulled out a huge sand-colored tarp from a lower cabinet. We exited the back of the vehicle, and I nearly screamed when a face appeared on the roof of the ambulance.

"Just me, Major," Edward said, his pale face barely distinguishable in the dark. He caught the edge of the tarp Rodney threw to him, and the three of us draped it over the vehicle. The other team members were performing similar acts beside us. It was obvious from up close that there were three vehicles under tarps, but in the dark, from a distance, we would hopefully be sufficiently camouflaged. Edward ducked into the back of the ambulance with us, and we sat quietly. The hum of approaching engines was loud enough in the quiet night for us to hear, even set back from the road as we were. Then, the unmistakable sound of chopper blades began to drown out the vehicle engine noises. Edward let out a quiet sigh. "They're flying over the other side of the road. They won't spot us with searchlights."

"How can you tell?" I asked before thinking. Edward just tapped his ear while Rodney shook his head. I needed to stop asking, stop noticing when Edward did something superhuman. Everything I didn't know was something I couldn't be expected to tell to anyone else. Which reminded me, I needed to consider discussing Mystery Man with Colonel McCarty. I had reached the point where Col. McCarty was beating Mystery Man hands down in Honesty Smackdown 2009. I realized that silence had descended once again; the convoy had passed us and disappeared into the night. Within moments, our three vehicles were back on the road for Kabul.

"What are we going to do with 2nd Lt. Trace?" I asked Rodney when we had been on the road for about ten minutes. The young man in question was still resting quietly.

"I'm not sure. We can't be associated with the rescue, so returning him will be another adventure." Rodney seemed unperturbed by this.

"Do you know what time it is?" I was annoyed by the whiny notes in my voice.

"It's about 3:30 a.m., local time. Here, have a Powerbar. It'll give you a second wind." Rodney pulled a foil-wrapped bar out of one of his chest pockets. "I can't get through a day without one."

I didn't really enjoy the moistened, sugary cardboard known as a Powerbar, but I figured it couldn't hurt. As I chewed the offensive snack, Rodney put his hand to his ear as though listening through his headset.

"Sure. I'll check," he intoned into the microphone.

"What is it?" I asked, annoyed again that Edward had commandeered my headset.

"Edward is planning to sneak Trace into Craig at Bagram. He wants me to see if there's another set of scrubs and some masks so I can help him." Rodney began rooting around in the cupboard.

"Craig?" I asked in confusion.

"Craig Joint-Theater Hospital," Rodney replied, emerging from the cupboard with another set of scrubs. I'd forgotten Bagram had a new hospital since last I'd been in Afghanistan. Rodney held the scrubs up to his body, and a laugh burst out of me.

"Edward, yes, there's masks, but the last set of scrubs wouldn't have fit me when I was ten." Rodney commented sarcastically. "What? Oh, I suppose." Rodney turned to me. "Does it fit you?" He thrust the garment at me. I held the top up to my shoulders, and it appeared, that, yes, the scrubs which looked like children's clothes on Rodney would fit me fine.

"It looks good on her, brings out her eyes," Rodney announced. I rolled said eyes at Rodney, discovering he was less charming and more annoying, once you got right down to it. "He wants you to put it on," he told me with a smirk.

"Fine. Turn around. Busy yourself with our patient." Once he was turned, I changed clothes rapidly, mindful of the peep show I had accidentally witnessed earlier. "Okay. I'm done." The scrubs fit reasonably well.

Rodney looked at me, and then made a face. He pulled off the headset and handed it to me. "Apparently, he wants a direct line."

"Major Swan?" Edward's smooth voice came through the headset, and a row of goosepimples ran from my ear down my neck onto my right arm. This was very bad.

"I'm here." I watched absently as Rodney began wiping down all the surfaces on the gurney with a wet gauze bandage.

"This should be a cakewalk. We'll just slip him into receiving, and slip back out." Edward was coolly confident.

"Do you even need me?"

"I hope not. But it's a possibility. Just follow my lead when we get there."

My nerves began to grow when I felt the ambulance slow down. Rodney must have seen the stress in my posture and expression.

"What about surveillance? Guards? How do we get around all that?" I flinched at the hysterical note in my voice. This was a U.S. airfield, there was no way that we were going to surreptitiously drag a man on a gurney through it unseen.

"Don't worry, Major. Between Shannon on the computer and Edward, there will be no trouble. The hard part will be getting from the hangar to the hospital, but the guards aren't trying to keep U.S. soldiers from moving around on the base. They're here to prevent attacks from outside."

The ambulance came to a stop once more, and before I had time to even get out of my seat, Edward was there, opening the back doors. Rodney handed us masks and latex gloves, and he and Edward maneuvered the gurney out of the vehicle. We were parked at the edge of the fenced airfield; the humvees were proceeding to the hangar.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Rodney commented.

"Masks on, Major, we're going for a little walk." Edward's face held none of the joyous abandon from a few hours before as it disappeared behind his mask. I held the paper mask to my face and looped the elastics over my ears carefully. I hated this style of mask, as they pulled my ears forward and gave every little sound a slight echo. I slipped on the gloves.

"We have your position on the GPS, Major Edward." Shannon's voice came through the headset I had borrowed from Rodney. "Blanking surveillance on your path on my mark." There was a pause of a few seconds. "Mark."

I followed Edward as he slipped quickly through an opening in the chain link enclosure. I had worried about the gurney's transit over the rough ground, but Edward was actually carrying it. I followed him as he cut back and forth between buildings, sometimes pausing for a few moments. I had completely lost track of our direction and I wasn't entirely sure how long we'd been walking.

"We're just around the corner from the patient-intake entrance. I'll lead; you hold his IV bag and don't say anything. Nod at me if I speak to you." Edward instructed as he set the gurney onto its wheels. Then, we were walking. My heart was pounding, and I couldn't help but wonder if Edward could hear it. Just before we turned the corner, Edward signaled for us to stop, though he offered no explanation or conversation. We both froze for a moment when Trace made a quiet moan and shifted. Our eyes met briefly, both of our gloved hands hovering over Trace's quiescent form. With only a hand signal from Edward, we began moving again. Edward kept our path close to the wall in the deep shadows that weren't penetrated by the sporadic lights in the breezeway between buildings. After another brief pause at a nondescript door, Edward yanked it open and hurried us through.

As I blinked in the bright fluorescence, I was surprised that the hallway was completely empty. In retrospect, I shouldn't have been, given Edward's skills. I caught a glimpse of someone in scrubs turning the corner at the far end of the hall, but otherwise, we were the only souls in sight.

"We haven't much time," Edward murmured, rushing to position the gurney bearing 2nd Lt. Trace against the wall near the intake desk. Around the corner, I could see plastic chairs in a fairly typical waiting area. In barely a blink's time, Edward had the IV bag out of my hands and hanging from a hook on the wall. "Let's go," he said, already walking away. I didn't dare risk a look back at Trace as we exited for fear of losing Edward in the inky darkness of pre-dawn.

* * *

My team was on board the plane which would take us back home via Ramstein. I had just a few minor details to check and I would join them. I headed toward the JSOC and felt my neck prickle. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye, and sighed in annoyance when CIA guy sidled up to me. He matched me stride for stride as I proceeded to the next building.

"Col. McCarty, I hear they've discovered our missing soldier in receiving at Craig."

"Really? How fortuitous." I didn't attempt to mask my sarcasm. He could insinuate whatever he liked. Proving my team had been in and out would be difficult at best. Shannon knew what she was doing with the electronics.

"I find it highly coincidental that one of the biggest warlords in Nangarhar province is suddenly no more."

"Oh?" Now he was starting to really annoy me. I glanced down at him (he was much shorter) to discover he was giving me a piercing look. Was I supposed to be intimidated? He put a hand on my elbow to stop me, but dropped it when I glared at him. "What do you want from me?"

"You should consider some information I have to offer."

I stopped and gave him my full but extremely skeptical attention. Since when does a CIA agent want to offer anything to someone in military intelligence?

"I want you to ask yourself, who would most benefit from the son of the senator from Maine disappearing?" CIA guy paused a moment from his hushed monologue, his eyes flicking back and forth between mine. "Who would benefit the most from seeing the blame for his death put on insurgents or the Taliban or anyone you like from over here – most people won't differentiate between any of these groups. Do you know what bills were coming up in the Senate this week?" I shook my head. I did always _mean_ to pay more attention. "Two defense bills are in the works, both loaded with pork, especially for the states with senators on the armed services committee. Both have money for outsourcing military work to private corporations. Just consider my words, and watch what happens this week. You've put a monkey wrench in someone's plans."

"Me?" I pointed at myself in disbelief. "I'm just an observer for the Pentagon brass, and now that the situation is resolved, I get to go home."

"You may have General McClellan fooled, but I doubt it. And I'm much smarter than he is. Watch your back, Colonel."

_Edward? Did you catch that?_ I wasn't sure if we were close enough or if he was paying me any attention. I continued my journey to the JSOC.

"I caught it." His voice was severely distorted; apparently he'd lost the headset he'd customized for himself. The electronics in my custom headset was adjusting for his high-frequency speech, but the standard headset he borrowed wasn't adjusted for optimal transmission. Or maybe I was just at the outside range of the headsets; they didn't operate like a long-range radio. "He's telling the truth. He is much smarter than General McClellan."

_That's not what I meant and you know it._

"Your CIA guy Ryan Jackson has some interesting ideas, but they're still pure speculation. He has no proof of anything. He isn't certain of your involvement, regardless of how he portrays himself. He isn't sure that someone in the Senate is involved in Trace's abduction, but he feels confident that the bandit/warlord wouldn't have been able to pull this off on his own. He has access to a lot of intel, and he's made some intuitive leaps."

_Does he have a prime suspect, so to speak?_

"He considers everyone on the Armed Services Committee to be a suspect at this time, although some are more likely contenders than others."

_That can't be too many people, right?_

"That's 28 people, more than a quarter of the Senate." I could see Edward's signature eye roll. Not all of us had photographic memories. We would have to continue our discussion at a later time; I had reached JSOC.

The mood in the operations center was considerably different from eight hours earlier. I was unsurprised to see General McClellan present.

"McCarty," he said curtly. "I suppose you're ready to return to report on the crisis resolution?"

"General McClellan. Sir, I have nothing but praise for how the situation was handled." My team had, after all, done a stellar job.

"What do you think of the plan to portray Trace as negligent in his duties?" McClellan asked. I froze briefly. Whoever was behind Trace's original kidnapping had not given up yet. At least this method was less deadly.

"I find any negative, not to mention false portrayal of a soldier's behavior distasteful. Sir. I think when Trace is fully conscious, you will find he has an interesting story, and one which will show that he was in no way negligent."

"I would ask you more questions about your role in this, but I've learned when to fold 'em, if you get my drift, Colonel." McClellan watched me intently.

"Yes, sir."

"Is there any question of, shall we say, attribution for his rescue?" The general idly tapped a pen on the table as he studied my face.

"No, sir. Your team can pat itself on the back."

"Very well. You're returning stateside immediately, then?" asked the general.

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. May we not cross paths again, no offense intended. Dismissed."

* * *

I learned something new about the team as we began the four hour flight to Ramstein from Bagram: since there were no written records kept of any missions, the debriefing was immediate. The success of the mission made this session slightly raucous and irreverent, although the discussions of casualties was sober enough. We were all, save Edward, eating Whoppers, courtesy of Shannon's thoughtfulness and the Bagram Burger King. Franky nailed Jack in the head with a French fry after he made fun of her inability to duck bullets. I watched each team member give his or her version of the attack on the bandits' hideout, and I was impressed by the utter frankness of the discussions. Brock discussed executing the bandit leader at Edward's command; Col. McCarty supported the team's actions. Mitch and Rick were absent, apparently both involved in piloting the plane. Everyone seemed relaxed, leaning or sitting on the various cargo boxes.

Edward, of course, had my surreptitious scrutiny. He was seated on the edge of a wooden box, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, his arms crossed over his chest. He was still dressed in the scrubs, and was the picture of casual comfort. He interjected comments regularly; somehow, despite being the center of the action, he seemed to have the best recall of everyone's position and activity throughout the long night.

Shannon, meanwhile, was hunched over a laptop on the floor, busily studying the contents of the USB drive Brock had taken from the leader of the bandit group; Col. McCarty wanted the appropriate intel distributed as soon as possible. I was observing her efficiency over her shoulder when the discussion from the main group caught my attention again.

"And then we saw a fireball light up the sky," Rodney declared after taking a long slurp of whatever soft drink he had. "The shockwave was ridiculous, even from where we were."

"Because Mitch set off the remote?" asked Heinz in confusion.

"No," Edward answered quietly. "I didn't think I could complete the transfer successfully. I decided it would be better to get out on my own terms, so to speak, not in reaction to a failure during the transfer."

"You decided to outrun a bomb." Heinz's voice was eerily calm.

"Yes." I noticed Edward's eyebrows were beginning to lower, and a chill ran up my spine. He didn't look like he had the first time I saw him when he ran me out of his quarters, but he was definitely scary in spite of the fact that he was still wearing green scrubs.

"And you didn't notify the team or me."

"No. It was a field decision by the field commander. I didn't require your feedback." Edward's jaw tensed. I noticed Col. McCarty folding his arms, but he didn't intervene.

"Do you ever stop to consider the amount of your government's money you would be burning to a crisp?" Heinz was coldly angry. I had a feeling this argument was an old one.

"Would you like to hear what went into my decision or do you want to continue insulting me?" Edward's voice was colder than Heinz's, and I felt hairs pop up on my arms and the back of my neck. I was becoming concerned for Heinz's life.

"That's enough," Col. McCarty interjected. "Majors, with me. That includes you, Swan." Col. McCarty walked swiftly to the back compartment of the plane where Edward had been on the flight out. I noticed the entire team was frozen, Rodney's mouth hanging open, Brock fisting his hands and looking at the floor. Franky's shocked eyes met mine, although she hadn't turned her head. Heinz stiffly followed McCarty. Edward gracefully stood, watching Heinz's back with a sardonic half-smile. He turned his eyes to me and motioned for me to precede him, one eyebrow raised, I presumed as a comment on my frozen state.

When the four of us were assembled in the back of the plane, Col. McCarty took a stance in front of the three of us. I felt like a kid called into the principal's office, stuck between my shady accomplices for some prank. "Headsets off," he barked. Edward and Heinz complied. I had returned Rodney's, so I waited for the next order. "Heinz, do I need to explain why you don't dress down an officer in front of subordinates?"

"No, sir."

"Good. Edward. Explain your reasoning."

"Sir. Neither Lt. Hoone nor I could ascertain the sensitivity of the pressure switch. We had successfully removed the package, with me supplying 180 lbs of pressure to the surface of the bench. In order to remove the pressure I was applying, I needed to add approximately 4 and a half concrete blocks to the table, one at a time, while releasing the appropriate amount of pressure. I was also going to have to break one block in half since I only had complete blocks. At any time, I could have made a mistake. If I was lucky, I would hear the electronics before the bomb itself exploded."

"You decided it was better to be fast than lucky," McCarty suggested.

"I decided that I was faster than I was lucky. Sir."

"And you're lucky you were that fast," McCarty stated. I hadn't looked away from Col. McCarty during the exchange. He looked angry and worried. "Heinz, any further comments?"

"Sir. Major Edward released a large number of suspected terrorists during this operation. He behaved recklessly towards his own person. And you know this isn't the first time." From the corner of my eye, I could see Heinz turning red.

"Enough. Your concerns are noted."

"But not taken seriously. Sir."

"I said enough. You can see for yourself how serious I am," Col. McCarty said, waving at me. "Which brings me to your part in this, Major Swan. You were on the spot. How do you evaluate Major Edward's behavior during the operation?"

"I don't think it is appropriate for me to comment in front of the entire group, sir," I responded.

"Nonsense. This is the command team, for now. We need to trust each other. Did Edward's behavior indicate a death wish or any recklessness?"

I hesitated, but caught Edward nodding at me from the corner of my eye. "No, sir. It is my professional opinion that he made a swift but reasonable judgment regarding the situation and his own abilities. Clearly he was taking a risk no matter what he did, and he chose the path which appeared to have the least amount of risk to himself."

"And releasing the terrorists?" Heinz demanded.

"I cannot directly evaluate the intel he used to make his judgments," I admitted. "If his intel was good, the released persons do not appear to be any sort of threat to U.S. concerns."

"Do you have issues with Edward's intel?" asked Col. McCarty. He was surveying Heinz solemnly.

"No, sir. His verifiable intel has always been solid," Heinz grudgingly admitted.

"Then I consider this matter closed. Now, I'm adding Maj. Swan to the command team, which means she is eligible to supervise Edward when we are off-mission. Any objections?"

"No, sir," chorused Heinz and Edward. I was too surprised to respond. I supposed I didn't have objections.

"Good."

"Sir, when will we be back in DC? I have a possible scheduling issue with my duties at the Pentagon," I asked quickly.

"We should be in place at 0600 on Tuesday. Will that be sufficient for you?"

"Yes, sir. Col. Brown has asked for my undivided attention Tuesday as we're meeting with Senator James on Wednesday morning." Since I was watching him carefully, I noted McCarty's eyes slip quickly to Edward before returning to me. I felt like I had witnessed a secret exchange.

"Senator Matthew Hunter James of South Carolina? From the Armed Services Committee?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. He has some interests in the research the task force is doing for future legislation."

"I see. And do you know the good senator?"

"We met last week for the first time at the Pentagon. I'm not sure why, but Sen. James seems to have taken an interest in my work. I think Col. Brown is planning to use it to his advantage." I recalled that meeting with some discomfort, the intense blue-gray eyes of the senator and his son Victor seemed more and more intrusive when I reflected on that day. "Uh, Col. Brown suggested the senator might have something to do with my position at the Pentagon."

"And you didn't think to bring this up until now?" asked Edward. I looked at him in surprise; his face was contorted with anger.

"I only heard it in passing this week," I retorted. It wasn't like I had asked for the senator's support. "The way Col. Brown had described it, my file was just one of the ones he liked and approved for the task force."

"What exactly does he think you owe him?" Edward seemed closer than before, his anger a physical force in the narrow space between us. He towered over me, and all I could think was that, even in a full-on rage, his face was glorious, a vengeful young demigod with a halo of bronze hair and flashing golden eyes. I collected myself.

"Look," I said, poking him hard in the chest with one finger (and hurting my finger). "I owe him the thanks for approving me, presumably because my file has solid credentials. I'm glad I was chosen. I want to do that work. It's why I applied to be on the task force. But I signed a confidentiality agreement to join this team. I take my service to my country and to this team seriously. If you want to accuse me of something, then do it."

"Silence! I'm beginning to regret having any of you on my command team," bellowed Col. McCarty. "You," he said, pointing at Edward. "Chillax." My eyebrows popped up. "You," he said, turning to me. "Watch yourself. The senator may not be a friend to this team. Now, let's talk more about this meeting with Senator James."

**AN2: So, some plot elements are starting to come together. Heh.**

**I made a blog, primarily to record some of the Soldier X facts in one place, although I threw some other stuff on there as well. It's at gleena34 dot blogspot dot com (listed as my homepage on the ff profile). I also made a twitter account, but I'm really not sure why. I'm gleena34 there as well.**

**The Cold War has been rec'ed at myvampfiction dot com and theedgegirls dot com (both are linked on my profile). I also got interviewed at myvampfiction dot com! I'm reeling in surprise!**

**A Mystery in Windermere by Persephone's Folly is complete. It's her second Holmes/Carlisle story, and it's great fun! (See my faves list.)**


	10. Annoyed

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: As usual, I am indebted to edward-bella-harry-ginny for pre-reading, suggesting, and betaing this chapter.**

**Recap: The team's trip to Afghanistan was successful as they managed to secure 2****nd**** Lieutenant Trace. The flight back included the mission debrief as well as Major Swan informing Col. McCarty and Edward about her upcoming meeting with Senator James.**

Ch. 10. Annoyed

I thought I could be forgiven for a moment of dizziness on the train to work. I'd managed to catch a reasonable number of hours of sleep on the nine hour flight from Ramstein back to the states, but thirty minutes of sleep followed by ten minutes of shivering wakefulness repeated over and over doesn't fully satisfy. I blinked my heavy eyelids and wondered how I was going to engage my brain for several hours in a row with Col. Brown. I'd barely made it through my shower without toppling over. I could see the headlines now: Army Major Drowns in Inch of Water; Closed Casket Needed to Hide Flattened Nose.

Angela was quietly cheery when I arrived at the office, and a few minutes after I'd settled at my desk, I heard Mike's loud entrance. Angela came into my office.

"The agenda for today's planning session," she said, putting the paper on my desk. "You know Col. Brown is still email-phobic." She rolled her eyes a little.

"Swan and Duckling! My two favorite office buddies!" Mike announced from my open door. Angela cringed, her back hiding her face from Mike. I wondered desperately how much ibuprofen was left in my desk.

"I'll bite. Why is Angela your duckling?" I was going to hate myself when he told me, but I figured that I was already in a bad mood so a little more couldn't hurt.

"Weber? Webbed feet?" Mike's eyes shone with the joy of the truly clueless. Sometimes I wished he wasn't such a nice guy. How would he fare against Edward? Heck, how would he fare against Franky? Even Rodney was less…well, less.

"Mike. That's a stretch, even for you. If you don't stop, I'm going to get everyone to call you fig-boy from now on."

"Ooo! Is that the starting _bell_?" He was inordinately pleased with himself.

"Major Swan, I believe you need to meet in the third floor conference room in ten minutes," Angela said, providing a blessed end to the conversation. Mike took the hint and left, to my surprise. Angela winked and left me to prepare for the marathon prep session.

By the time it reached 4 p.m., I had rehearsed our presentation three times. Col. Brown was panicking about pitching every aspect of the task force's work. I'd had to learn a lot about my colleagues since only Col. Brown and I were going. We'd had meetings with six people on different parts of the task force to clarify their contributions to the presentation. I may have just been tired, but I thought I detected a note of resentment from several of them. I wanted to announce that I hadn't volunteered for this, but I kept my mouth shut. Finally, the colonel decided we were both ready, although he wanted to go over it one more time in the morning. Our meeting had been scheduled for two in the afternoon and was likely to last for only about thirty minutes.

I was now so tired that I couldn't even feel nervous about the meeting of my career. I walked slowly down to the Metro entrance and hoped I wouldn't fall asleep on the way home and then miss my stop. Sleeping on a cargo plane after a high-energy mission was NOT the best way to get rest. I cursed all annoying CO Colonels and their plans to ruin my rest.

Settling into the seat, I realized I was too tired to even drag out my iPod. My calves hurt. My back hurt. I decided I was now officially too old to go jaunting around the world.

"Bella? Bella Swan?" I looked up in shock to see a familiar face.

"Danny Bradford? What are you doing here?" Dan had been an older graduate student of Dr. Molina's; he had gotten his degree a few months after I had started the program. I saw him occasionally at conferences; we often spoke in the same sessions due to our similar work.

"I was consulting on our favorite topic," he answered with a weak grin as he sank into the seat facing me. Danny was a solid-looking man with olive skin, black receding hair and glasses. He was a native New Yorker and had a wicked and ribald sense of humor.

"Really? Were you at the Pentagon?" I was a little surprised that he would be called in to consult when I was on the spot, so to speak.

"No, I just…Look, I knew you worked here and I wanted to say hello."

"Why didn't you just call me, Danny? We could have had dinner or something." I took a more appraising look at him. He looked really tired. I knew he was only about ten years older than I was, but he looked twenty years older. He was oddly dressed in a red souvenir t-shirt from the Hard Rock Cafe and cargo pants. I was used to seeing him in crisp suits, but then again, I usually dressed up for conferences as well.

"I didn't want to leave any evidence that we'd talked," he answered quietly, his voice only just audible over the rumbling of the train.

"What?" My voice had dropped several levels to match his.

"I've gotten involved in something big, something I don't understand. I can't talk about it at all, but I wanted to warn you to be careful. If you're contacted about a strange project, don't get involved. Whoever these people are, they can do a lot of strange things, Bella. Please, be careful."

"What do you mean?" I hissed. "Are you in trouble? Can I help?" Danny shook his head.

"Don't worry about me. That's not why I came. I thought that you might be another target. Our backgrounds are so similar. And I tried to be careful coming to find you. I left my cell in the hotel. I changed cabs three times, and I bought new clothes." He waved at himself. "I left my other clothes in the last cab. I don't know how, but they always seem to know where I am."

"This sounds really serious. Please, let me help you," I pleaded. I almost told him I knew people who could help, but I stopped myself. In any case, he shook me off again.

"Just promise me you'll be safe." I nodded at him, eyes wide. "I'm getting off here. Take care, okay?" He sat unmoving until just before the doors closed, and then he slipped off the train quickly.

I sat in dumfounded silence, wavering as to whether Danny had lost his mind or whether there was some weird mental health mafia coming after psychologists. I was almost at my stop when I realized it was too late for me; I had to blame the exhaustion for my utter stupidity. Danny was warning me about something I was already involved in hip-deep, and I wished I'd asked him whether the "people" were military or not. Was it McCarty and his team, or was it Mystery Man? That question launched another round of anxiety. I'd only been in my apartment this morning long enough to shower and dress, and now the possibility of being caught by Mystery Man resurfaced. I would be home all evening with my newfound information about Danny, about Edward, about the weekend's mission, and about the team.

The apartment was quiet when I entered, and I had no sense of any intruder. I locked the door, and upon reflection dragged a chair from the dining table and shoved it under the door handle. It looked ridiculous, but at least I'd have a warning.

I had another restless night. I kept waking, thinking I'd heard something. Twice I'd gotten up with the trusty baseball bat and checked the security of the front door. I also woke up once in a cold sweat from a dream involving Mystery Man, a bomb, and a sniper's rifle. I supposed the elements of that dream were pretty obvious. The other dream that haunted me involved Edward and a singed pair of pants. I kept hearing him say "Is something wrong?" or perhaps "What's wrong?" or sometimes "Something here is wrong." The dream about Edward did not scare me.

Morning came too soon. Although the relief of a night spent without strange visitors to my apartment was, well, a relief, the strange dreams had prevented me from getting good sleep. I couldn't blame this one on McCarty or Brown, unfortunately. I put myself together and ate a quick breakfast. As I headed towards my front door, I saw the door I had jammed into place the night before. It was mildly comforting to know that no one could have broken in unless they'd come through my window. I snatched the chair out of the way and dragged it back to the dining area.

After arriving at the office, I had a few minutes to prepare before my morning practice session with Col Brown.

A knock at my door proved to be Major Newton, who poked his head into the office before I had a chance to answer. "Major Swan. Hey."

"Hey," I responded, surprised by his subdued attitude. He came in and perched on the corner of my desk.

"So Ol' Brownie has you really stressing, huh?"

"Is that what you call him? No comments like 'what can brown do for me'? Nothing about Colonel UPS?"

"Hey, that's a good one," Mike answered half-heartedly. Oh no. I had just done Mike for Mike. "I just wanted to let you know that you've got my support. Knock the senator's socks off."

"Thanks." He really wasn't so bad when you could calm him down.

"So, I didn't get to chat yesterday, you were so busy. How was the weekend? Jessica said she didn't hear from you at all." Mike's open eager face waited for my reply.

"Oh, um, yeah. My new weekend assignment is keeping me on my toes, you know? So it's working out with Jess?" I really needed to call her. I didn't know how I was going to find the time to get the rest of my stuff out of our Hampton apartment – I was still paying rent there until I could get my stuff cleaned up.

"Sure, she's great. Hey, I'll let you get ready for your meeting." Mike clapped me on the shoulder and headed back out of the office.

Col. Brown was micromanaging up a storm, with very little positive to show for his efforts. Ordinarily he kept the task force moving in the right direction in spite of the tendency for various factions to insist their special interest was the primary mission of the task force. I mean, everyone _knew_ that veteran mental health issues should be the primary mission. Heh. We finally broke up for lunch. Col. Brown had requisitioned a car and driver to take us to the Russell Senate Office Building, so I had 30 minutes to grab a bite and meet him. I headed in defeat toward the vending machines. I perked up a little when I saw that frosted strawberry pop-tarts were item H-4. It was a buck fifty, but worth every penny for the pastry, the strawberry and the sugar. I shook my head in disgust. I'd skipped dinner from exhaustion the night before, and apparently it was affecting my ability to discern good food from an overprocessed nightmare. I began to drool a little as I headed back to my desk with the unexpected foil-wrapped treasure in my hands. The nutrition box even listed all the vitamins, so it couldn't be that bad.

After washing my white flour and refined sugar down with the dregs of the office coffee, I did a fist bump with Angela and headed down to the garage. The short car ride with the nervous Colonel Brown was uncomfortable. The tense atmosphere encouraged me to reexamine my motives for serving on the task force rather than spend all my time counseling patients. Which, if you thought about it, I was spending essentially zero time counseling patients now that the Pentagon took up half my week and McCarty took the other half.

We were dropped off at the office building and passed through security and badging quickly. An aide escorted us to the Senator's offices. We still had about twenty minutes until our appointment, and we settled in his plush waiting area.

"You look good today," Col. Brown said stiffly.

"Thank you, sir." Seriously? I looked good? I was in uniform. I looked exactly the way I always looked.

"I think Sen. James' support is what the task force needs, Major Swan," he said quietly. "With his influence on the Armed Services Committee, we stand a fighting chance to get the best for the veterans. I can't stress to you how important it is to have his good will."

"I will do my best, sir." Thankfully, he remained silent until the aide ushered us into the senator's office.

"Colonel Brown, and the lovely Major Swan!" Senator James' ebullience was in full force today.

"Senator," responded Col. Brown as we all shook hands. The aide seated us and then took his own place, presumably to take notes on the meeting.

Col. Brown and I presented the current findings and recommendations of the task force. At the end of our twenty minute presentation, Sen. James sat thoughtfully looking at our last slide of data.

"You make a powerful argument for increased support for the returning heroes," he began in his deep, Southern drawl. There was no country twang in his accent, but he had the slower vowels I associated with the moneyed South. "The facts and statistics are clear, but you don't have a face for your proposal. You need individuals with stories, and you need a mouthpiece for the task force."

"You would make an excellent advocate, Sen. James," fawned Col. Brown.

"I'm flattered you would think so, but I believe Major Swan is the best choice to be the face of your task force. She has served in harm's way, and she is young, articulate, and pretty. She could be a media darling."

"I think that's an excellent idea," agreed Col. Brown enthusiastically, and at once I realized it had been his plan from the beginning. I smiled, but I had a feeling I looked like a cornered animal. I was young and pretty? I had a Ph.D. and the rank of major. And I couldn't embarrass my CO in front of a senator. I didn't speak since I didn't trust what would come out of my mouth.

"In fact, next weekend I will be hosting a charity event, and it would be the perfect venue for Major Swan's debut. She can meet with congressmen, senators, and a variety of other players who could lend valuable support to this legislation." The senator regarded me with what I supposed was his version of fatherly support.

"We will make arrangements in her schedule," Col. Brown replied without consulting me.

"Do you need an escort, Major? My son Victor is about your age and he has the same rank."

"No thank you, sir. I believe I can find my own date," I replied, trying to soften my words with a wide smile.

"And Major Swan, this is not a military event," the senator intoned. "Do not wear that gawdawful dress uniform they make for the women."

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

I exited the office building, intending to head straight to the Union Station Metro stop. I could be home in less than 20 minutes. Heck, maybe less than 15 minutes. I was really, really angry with my CO and with the good senator, but I didn't feel like I'd had a choice. I had no desire to do what they were asking, but realistically, if it was best for the project, I would do what needed to be done. Still. When I reached the street, I stood in the crowd of pedestrians waiting for the walk signal. A black Lincoln with essentially opaque windows pulled up to the curb just to my right.

"Major Swan!" My shoulders hunched in a combination of embarrassment and oppression. The voice calling me was Col. McCarty. I headed over to the open door, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the stares of the other pedestrians. Hadn't they ever seen anyone in this town get picked up in a shiny black car? I slid into the back seat, and the car began pulling out almost before I had the door shut.

"Colonel. It's been a very long day. Please tell me you're kindly taking me home so I could avoid the Metro." I was unable to turn off the snark; I was too tired to fight my natural inclinations. All the aggression I'd built up in the meeting with Sen. James was fighting to rip a new something on someone.

"No, I have a matter of some urgency, and I need you to act as a member of my command team for the evening." I took a look at him, and my eyes popped. Col. McCarty was out of uniform, wearing a really amazing suit with a pale blue tie and holding a bouquet of lilies and roses.

"Urgency?"

"Yes, um, Edward has a thing every Wednesday night, and I have an urgent appointment this evening." Col. McCarty looked a little nervous. Where was the hard-bitten career army man I was used to?

"Appointment?"

"Yeah, I, uh, missed a few things this weekend with my wife."

"Wife?"

"Major Swan, are you all right?"

"I never imagined you being married for some reason," I answered lamely.

"Married, three kids. Monsters, really, but you gotta love 'em if they're yours. Anyway, it's really simple. Just stay with Edward; the drivers will drop you off at home when it's all over. Piece of cake."

"But—" The car came to a halt, and Col. McCarty smiled with the look of a desperate man.

"Thanks for everything." He hopped out of the car, and ran up to a tall, thin, blonde woman in a black ankle-length sheath dress with stiletto heels. I didn't catch a look at her face, but she seemed happy with the flowers.

"Good evening, Major Swan."

"Aaugh!"

"It's just me, your usual driver. Would you please place your phone in the compartment?"

"Right, sorry. I'm a little flustered. It's been a long day. Where exactly are we going?" I dropped my phone in the drawer which opened with one hand and massaged my calves.

"Cherry Hill Manor, Arlington, VA," answered the disembodied voice from the intercom.

"And that is?" My irritation was rising exponentially.

"A nursing home."

I pushed back into the soft upholstery, shifting my bag around to the empty seat. I was being driven who-knows-where in a luxurious vehicle; I might as well relax. I toed off my shoes and let the drone of the engine lull me.

I woke when the car came to a stop. The power nap had been completely dreamless. I checked my phone; it was nearly six in the evening.

"They're waiting just outside for you, Major Swan. We'll take you home from the compound."

"Yeah, thanks for everything." I stepped out of the car and had a moment of déjà vu when I found myself in an underground garage. There was a van, clearly military, next to me. An extremely large sergeant saluted me.

"Major Swan, we're here for the prisoner transfer." He opened the back of the van. Edward sat in the back, clearly annoyed. He was chained as he had been on the airplane. The sergeant began a laborious process of removing the restraints.

"Where is Emmett?" snapped Edward.

"Apparently he had a hot date with his wife. Something about how he ruined her weekend or something," I snapped back.

"Oh." He actually appeared mollified.

"Do you know her?" I asked, attempting to treat him civilly.

"Yes, she's good for him. They've been together a long time." The last restraint dropped and Edward ducked to get out of the van. When his feet hit the pavement, he stood straight. He was in dress blues; we made a nice matched set.

"So, what are we here for?" I asked.

"You're here to babysit," he answered with a grimace. "I'm here to visit someone." We entered the elevator and rode up to the lobby. When we arrived, I was surprised. The lobby was like a luxurious hotel. A young man in khakis and a polo shirt and carrying a clipboard approached us.

"Ah, Major Rogers, I see. General Miller has been eager to see you again. Your guest?"

"This is Major Jones," Edward answered quickly. The young man nodded and made a notation, then led us down a hallway to another elevator. I glanced at Edward, but he gave a slight shake of his head. I stayed quiet. On the third floor of the building, the man led us down a hallway, and stood in front of an impressive oak door.

"General Miller tires easily, as you know Major Rogers. I'll be waiting outside."

Edward opened the door, and motioned me in before him. The room was beautiful, with a luxurious leather couch, thick carpeting, and a tall window which emphasized the high ceiling. The room was dominated by a large bed.

"You can sit on the couch," Edward said as he moved toward the bed.

An older man was propped up there, his eyes darting over to Edward. His expression didn't change. Edward picked up the elderly man's hand and held it. I tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear. Edward spoke louder than normally; I guessed that General Miller was a bit hard of hearing.

"Hey, Road King. How are you tonight? The nurses treating you all right?" I noticed that Edward's voice was also more tender than usual, despite the volume. Road King? The name tickled the back of my mind, and suddenly it clicked. This was Four-star General Roger "Road King" Miller. His exploits were required reading in Military Science at UW. I took another look at his face, and I could recognize his features from pictures. I'd actually written a report on his strategy for an operation in Vietnam.

"That bad, huh? Everything's fine with us. We had a mission over the weekend, nothing we couldn't handle. Emmett's doing fine. He's with Lily Rose tonight."

I noticed that, while his eyes moved, General Miller did not otherwise respond to Edward's questions and comments. I vaguely remembered seeing something in Stars and Stripes about a stroke. General Miller had been retired for some years, but I knew he'd stayed active in politics, speaking out about various issues as it related to the army.

"This is Major Isabella Swan," Edward told the general. "Emmett authorized her to be on the command team." I got up and stood on the other side of the bed from Edward.

"Hello. I'm Major Swan." I picked up General Miller's other hand, which was cool and smooth. "I'm very pleased to meet you, General. I've done a lot of reading about your career." It could have been my imagination, but I thought he gave my hand a slight squeeze.

"Don't be crass. Yes, she's very nice," Edward said with a roll of his eyes. He motioned me back to the couch. "No. Absolutely not. Would I lie to you?" We all sat silently for a bit. I wondered how well Edward must know the general to be able to guess his responses.

"I miss you, too. Emmett's good, but he's not you. Is there anything I can get you?" I realized that Edward genuinely cared for the older man. He must have been a mentor of sorts, before the stroke. It seemed an odd combination, the elderly man and the young soldier. "Oh, look, a letter from your nephew. Did the nurses read it to you? Well, then."

I tuned out the words, feeling a bit of a voyeur. Instead, I chose to listen to the cadence and tone of Edward's reading. His spoke soothingly now, but I knew that at other times, he could be almost frighteningly seductive. Or maybe that was just me. A blush started from my cheeks and suffused outwards. I picked up a magazine from the coffee table in front of me and hid behind it while I listened to Edward's mellifluous voice. It was very calming after my tumultuous afternoon.

The visit lasted about another hour with Edward relating trivial comments about his day – music he'd listened to, having tuned his piano, something he'd read in the paper. It was mundane and comforting. We left the general, signed out as Majors Rogers and Jones, and got back into the car.

"They'll take me back first, of course," Edward told me, his eyes facing forward. "I can't be out in the car by myself, so to speak." There was a bitter edge to his comment. "So, how was your presentation today?"

"It went fine, I suppose." I was still annoyed with the sexist comments. Senator James was a pig.

"And everything's fine since we got back?"

"I suppose," I answered. I considered mentioning Danny's surprise visit, but I wasn't sure what it would accomplish. I really needed to talk with Col. McCarty. "How about with you?"

"Yes, fine. You're certain; no nightmares for example?" He scowled at the seat backs in front of us, every muscle in his torso rigid. What had I said to tick him off? He couldn't possibly know about my sleep disturbances.

"I feel like I've hardly slept enough to have much in the way of nightmares." That wasn't a lie, except by implication. "By the way, I thought I was the psychologist here. Have you had nightmares?" I regarded his stiff posture.

"No. I don't have troubled dreams." He was closed to me, as inscrutable as a monochrome painting. He didn't speak again, and when the car stopped, we were in the usual underground garage. A pair of soldiers waited to escort him. He didn't say good-bye, and I let him walk away silently.

When I finally stood at my apartment door turning the key in the lock, I noted I was home about four hours later than I had wanted. I was exhausted. Edward, Col. Brown, Col. McCarty, Mike, and the good senator from South Carolina had conspired to kill me. They were all in on it.

I opened my door, and one step into the hallway the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne surrounded me. Perfect.

**AN2: ebhg and I are putting ourselves up for auction, so to speak. The next Fandom Gives Back auction will be June 23-July 7, 2010, and we're auctioning a one-shot (min 5000 words, T-rated) in the Masen and Swan series. The website for that auction hasn't been launched yet (should be going up today or soon), so more on that later!**

**I made a blog, primarily to record some of the Soldier X facts in one place, although I threw some other stuff on there as well (such as teasers). It's at gleena34 dot blogspot dot com (listed as my homepage on the profile). I also made a twitter account, but I'm really not sure why. I'm gleena34 there as well.**


	11. HalfTruths

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: As usual, I am indebted to edward-bella-harry-ginny for pre-reading, suggesting, and betaing this chapter. Happy Independence Day in the U.S.!**

**Recap: After returning from Afghanistan, Bella has barely had time to breathe, much less sleep, as she has had a whirlwind of meetings with her boss Col. Brown, an old friend Danny Bradford, Senator James, Col. McCarty and Edward. She's been chosen to be the "poster girl" for the upcoming defense bill, which may include the veteran's package Bella is currently helping to shape.**

_When I finally stood at my apartment door turning the key in the lock, I noted I was home about four hours later than I had wanted. I was exhausted. Edward, Col. Brown, Col. McCarty, Mike, and the good senator from South Carolina had conspired to kill me. They were all in on it._

_I opened my door, and one step into the hallway the scent of cigarette smoke and cologne surrounded me. Perfect._

Ch. 11. Half-truths

I flicked the light in my hallway, but it did not come on. The only illumination in my apartment was from the hallway behind me and the filtered street light through my living room curtains. I fought the urge to run away. I closed the door behind me and felt the pulsing of my accelerating heartbeat. I could taste the adrenaline. I set down my bag by the door and walked slowly down the hall.

"Major Swan." I recognized Mystery Man's voice at once.

"Yes. It's me."

"We were pleased to see you accepted the position you were offered. What are your new duties?"

"I'm working in a DARPA facility." I didn't like the breathless sound of my voice, but it was hard to get enough air. I realized that I was standing at attention, and I relaxed my stance. This man was not my superior.

"Of course, that's the cover they've given you. What are your actual duties?" I was surprised. He didn't know what I was doing? I had assumed I was chosen to meet Edward and the team specifically. If he didn't know, could I keep him from finding out the truth?

"I'm doing psychiatric evaluations on a team." Surely he knew or could safely guess that much.

"And what have you found out about this team?"

"I don't think anyone poses a threat." This was true.

"Have you evaluated everyone yet?"

"No." In fact, none of my evaluations were complete. I'd had a little distraction known as Afghanistan.

"Who is left that you haven't seen?" Interesting. He seemed to assume that I would label someone as unstable; hence he assumed I hadn't yet met his target. This conclusion strengthened my belief that they were looking for Edward, or someone like him. But they didn't seem to know exactly who or what they were looking for. Danny's conversation came back to me, and I guessed that I wasn't the only one sent fishing. How big was this?

"I haven't seen a list of people." This was also true since there was no written documentation of the team or its activities. I waited for the next question, but the room remained silent. My eyes had adjusted to the low light, and I could barely make out MM's outline against the living room blinds. A stray thought crossed my mind that I needed to have the sofa steam cleaned since he was soaking it in cigarette odor and his putrid cologne.

"Keep your eyes open, Major Swan," Mystery Man finally said. "We are investigating a rogue black ops unit, one with very disturbing capabilities. The person who helps us bring down the unit will be handsomely rewarded."

"Who are you? Who is running this investigation?" I knew it was a long shot that he would answer, but I needed to know. His description of the team hit a little too close to reality, and I was beginning to doubt my gut feelings about McCarty and his motivations. The off-hand manner that Edward had ordered the execution of a foreign national with no trial bubbled up in my head.

"I can't allow you to have that information, Major Swan, but I assure you that it is a matter of utmost importance to our nation's security. We will check in again with you shortly. Now, please retire to your room."

I sat on my bed in the dark and waited until I heard my own front door shut. Then I continued to sit there, tears rolling down my face. Anger and frustration always triggered my tear ducts, and the events of the day had definitely raised my ire. My home had been violated again. And…I was starving. The glow of my iHome clock radio let me know ten minutes had passed. I stumbled to the kitchen and ended up grazing in front of the open refrigerator. Guacamole, chips, carrot sticks, leftover Thai and leftover naan combined for a reflux-inducing repast. I washed dinner down with a diet cola, wedged the front door shut with a chair, took a long hot shower, and resolved that tomorrow would be a better day. It wasn't likely to get worse, right?

Thursday was thankfully better than Wednesday. There was no staff meeting as Col. Brown had been called to a sudden meeting of his own superiors. Mike was more subdued than normal, and Angela and I went for lunch together with no immediate crisis hanging over our heads. Well, as long as I could ignore the crisis hanging over my head.

"What are you having?" Angela asked, settling into our booth and perusing the menu.

"I think I'll have a salad. Last night's dinner seems to be with me still." I patted my stomach tenderly. "I should know better than to eat late on an empty stomach and then go to bed immediately."

"How did the meeting yesterday go?" Angela whispered, leaning across the table. My eyes popped open. How did she know? Then I abruptly realized she wasn't talking about MM or McCarty or Edward.

"Great for Col. Brown, bad for me. Apparently, I'm going to be the poster girl for the defense bill Brown and Sen. James are planning," I whispered back. You never knew who was listening to conversations in this town.

"Don't you mean poster woman? Or poster Major?" asked Angela with fervor.

"I can't explain how…trivialized…I felt after the meeting," I admitted. "They like me, apparently, because I'm young, attractive, and I don't stutter. And I've been commanded, more or less, to attend a party at Senator James' next weekend. He offered up his son for my escort."

"That is disgusting." Angela grimaced. She glanced down at her menu. "I think I'll have a salad, too, but only if you split a basket of fries with me."

"Deal." At that opportune moment, the waiter arrived and took our orders. After he left, Angela dropped the $64,000 question.

"So, if you're not going with the senator's son, who are you going to take with you?" I sighed. It's not like I had much choice.

"I have this friend from back home. He and I always cover for each other in these situations, starting back in our junior year of high school." I hadn't called him yet, but I knew he'd come through for me.

"He'll fly from Washington state to DC just to take you out? That sounds serious," Angela commented.

"We tried that once, but it was weird for both of us," I told her. Angela looked at me with raised eyebrows. Reluctantly, I added to my summary. "We did the relationship thing for about three months in college, and then gave up. There really isn't much more to say. We care about each other, but we're not cut out to love each other. I'll try to get him to come to lunch with us if he can fit it in his schedule."

"What's his name?"

"Ben Cheney. He writes code or manages code-writers for one of those multi-player online game thingies. He tried to get me involved, but it never worked for me. I was using real guns in ROTC, and I didn't feel like doing the fake thing in my time off, you know? Oh, and now he's like mega-rich. Stock options or something."

That night at home, I spent an hour on the treadmill and ate a balanced dinner. After my shower, I sat on my bed staring at Ben's number on my phone. If this didn't work, I didn't know what I was going to do. I hit send.

"Hello? Bell-leia?" Ben's voice was bright with enthusiasm.

"Hi, Obi-Wan!"

"Now that's a name I haven't heard since, oh, before you were born," he responded. I could see his face-splitting grin.

"Help me, you're my only hope. And I _really_ mean it this time."

"What's up, Major Problem?" I really missed him.

"I'm required to attend a party sponsored by a senator, and I have to have a date. Please tell me you can visit next weekend," I begged.

"Really? A senator? No problem! The company will totally give me time off. They can't pay, but they'd love to have me there. It's like I'm stuck on Tatooine but I'm headed for Corusant."

"Thanks, Ben. You're my hero," I teased, but with sincerity.

"Yeah. So, how are things?" he asked.

"Okay. You?"

"Eh. You remember Marla?"

"The redheaded one?"

"Right. The redhead who didn't recognize 'Face it tiger, you just hit the jackpot.'"

"How could I forget," I laughed. Last time we had talked, Ben had been outraged that any redhead would be ignorant of MaryJane's famous line to Peter Parker. That had been just before my move to DC. I had guessed then that she wasn't going to be "the one."

"We've had the full life-cycle of dating. She dumped me about a week ago," he stated.

"You don't _sound_ upset?" I probed.

"Nah. If she hadn't done it, I would have gotten around to it eventually," he said. "It's that inertia thing I have. I wanted her gone, but I kept hoping she'd just vanish on her own. And that's sorta how it happened, just with more yelling."

"Bummer," I commiserated. "No news here," or at least none I could share. "Can I email you details about the party? Do you need me to make the travel arrangements?"

"No way. I've got an administrative assistant who can do that with both hands tied behind her back and a blindfold."

"Geez, Obi-wan. I didn't know how kinky you were."

"Shut it, Princess Bell-leia. Don't think I've forgotten your golden, metallic bikini." He'd bought it for me one Halloween, in the middle of our attempt to be a couple. I'd ended up wearing the full-body flowing white robes instead, but the tiny metal costume was still in my closet for some reason.

"Um, I _never_ wore that, if you'll recall. You're mixing me up with the real Princess Leia. Seriously, thanks for this, Ben."

"I'm looking forward to it. Don't forget to email me. And you could come visit here every once in a while."

"You know why I don't," I told him.

"Yeah, I know. I miss you, that's all."

"You're the only one," I told him honestly.

"What? You don't think Lauren misses you? I actually ran into her the other day. She was with Conner, or she probably wouldn't have said hello. She is exactly the same, except I think she has more plastic parts."

"Nice. Don't send her my love, okay?"

"Okay," he chuckled. "See you soon."

"Bye."

I put up my phone and lay down on the bed. Talking to Ben had been just what I needed. Now all I had to do was spend my weekend working with an undocumented special ops team. No problem.

Okay. Minor problem. I was in Col. McCarty's office, sitting in a chair, while McCarty and Edward both loomed over me. Edward was between me and the firmly shut office door, and McCarty was leaning over his desk.

"You didn't think this was important?" McCarty fumed. He glanced at Edward with a black look, and Edward's return look oozed annoyance.

"Of course I knew it was important that some stranger was breaking into my house and intimidating me," I shot back. "I knew it was important that I was given a secret assignment to work with a special ops team. I had no idea which one of you was 'good guys' and which one was 'bad guys.'" I waved wildly at McCarty when I said "good guys" and at the wall opposite Edward when I said "bad guys."

"You went on a mission with us and didn't know whether you trusted us?" asked Edward. Well, it was more like he was spitting words at me. For some reason, it really hurt that he was this disgusted with me.

"What was I supposed to do? There was no one I could talk to. I had signed a nondisclosure agreement to work with the team, but this mystery guy was telling me you were a rogue outfit, and a good patriot would feed the information about you back to good forces in the government. I still can't prove that he's wrong and you're right, but I know I find him distasteful and I…I don't know…I believe in your motivations." The end of my impromptu speech trailed away, and I felt the heat of embarrassment flush my cheeks.

"Thank you for your confidence," Col. McCarty responded with sarcasm. "Unfortunately, it is likely that your residence is compromised. We don't know if they've been monitoring your activities. What have you said or done in your apartment which may have tipped them off to our team?"

"Nothing I can think of," I answered slowly, trying to remember any recent conversations. "I've only been on the phone with my mom, my old roommate, and a friend from Washington state, and I didn't say anything of real consequence to any of them. I don't talk to myself, at least, not out loud. I may have talked in my sleep, but I don't know what I would have said then, do I?"

"Enough, Major," Col. McCarty said in a warning tone.

"I get that you're both angry, but what would have had me do?" I demanded with a slap on the desk. "And it's pretty clear that neither one of you is surprised by this development." I didn't mean for that last sentence to slip out, although it was definitely true. Sudden realization sparked in my brain, and I whipped my gaze from McCarty's face to Edward's, and back again. They both looked slightly guilty. "You knew this was a possibility, that someone would target me to spy on you." I went from defensive to angry in 0.3 seconds. I could feel the tears starting to prick my eyes – I really did _not _want to lose it now in front of these two. "Thanks for the warning. I've been living with this hanging over me, and you knew all about it."

"No, we didn't know. We just suspected," Edward cut in. "The unilateral request for special ops team psych evaluations seemed a little fishy." He backed away from me a bit, leaning back into the corner of the small office, and Col. McCarty sat down behind his desk. The colonel looked stressed, and I imagined I was red-faced and sweaty. Edward looked like he was a lounging male model dressed as a soldier. He even had that pouty look that male models usually seem to have. Why aren't they allowed to smile in magazine photos? We all took a moment to calm down.

"I interviewed twelve candidates for the psychologist. We couldn't be sure if you were a plant or if we were being paranoid," Col. McCarty admitted.

"So. Am I really here for evaluations, or were you just testing me?" I thought of all my abandoned patients in Hampton.

"Testing isn't the right word," hedged McCarty. "We were suspicious. You're squeaky clean with no attachments outside the military."

"You're perfect for recruitment," agreed Edward.

"Why isn't Major Heinz in this meeting?" I asked. "He's on the command team." I watched as the two men gave each other questioning glances, and I had the distinct impression they were communicating silently.

"Jason's a straight arrow. He doesn't do well with the cloak and dagger politicking that is part and parcel of running this team," McCarty finally answered. "It was my decision to limit knowledge about possible attacks on the team. You're only the third one privy to this discussion, and it's only because you're already mixed up in it. Edward, I want her apartment swept, ASAP. Get into civvies and take a car and the major."

"Yes, sir." Edward ushered me out of the colonel's office.

Within the hour, the car with opaque windows dropped us off in a corner of the parking garage. I was wearing some of Shannon's clothes since I had nothing civilian at the facility, and Edward was in jeans, a black t-shirt, denim jacket, Ray-bans, and a baseball cap. I couldn't deny that he was stunning. Edward grasped my hand and led me on an odd circuit, apparently avoiding the surveillance cameras, to reach the elevator area. When we arrived, he fiddled with his baseball cap, and urged me into the stairwell. He pulled out a phone.

"Entering the stairwell now," he said quietly into the phone. He glanced at me as he put it away, although I couldn't see his eyes through the dark glasses. "Shannon's disabling the security cameras. They might be surveilling your building."

When we reached the third floor, Edward alerted Shannon again. I hadn't realized the building security was so extensive. We had walked about halfway to my door when he stopped me.

"Someone's in your apartment," he murmured, his head leaning in toward my ear. He appeared to be listening. "It's a woman." I shook my head in confusion. "Go ahead and open the door." He took off his sunglasses. I unlocked the door, and when I opened it, Jessica was standing on the other side.

"Oh my god! I didn't expect you were here! I figured you were doing that new weekend thing. I–" Jessica cut off abruptly, I presumed when she caught sight of Edward. "Oh, um, hi." Her face broke out into her "I'm a cute girl" smile.

"Yeah, Jessica Stanley, this is Edward, uh, Masen." I sensed Edward freezing beside me, and a sideways glance showed he was clenching his jaw. "Edward, Jessica is my roommate from Hampton." What was his problem?

"Jessica, very nice to meet you." Another glance showed Edward had regained control, and he was charming Jessica's socks off with a wide grin and his intense eyes. I wondered if her socks were all that was going to come off.

"Okay, um, can we come all the way in, Jess?" We were still stuck in the hallway, as Jessica appeared to have lost her sense of reality. And I thought I'd had it bad when I met Edward. At least he wasn't roaring at her like he'd done to me.

"Oh! Of course, come in. I didn't call because it was such a spur of the moment thing, but I thought I'd surprise Mike with a night out, and you'd left me a key in case I wanted to do an evening in DC, so here I am." Jessica's monologue cut off.

"How much longer are you going to be here? Are you picking Mike up?" I noted that Jessica was already dressed to go out. She looked great, actually, and I mentioned that.

"Actually, I've got to go. Call me, okay?" Jessica gave a head gesture toward Edward, who was currently looking at one of my bookshelves. She made a pantomime of dialing a phone and wiggled her eyebrows. "Nice to meet you, Edward." He turned around and gave her a wide grin, and Jessica's eyes glazed over.

"Nice to meet you as well." I half expected him to approach and kiss her hand or something, but he stayed where he was. Jessica's face fell a bit, but she waved and exited the apartment.

I shook my head at Jessica's antics, and turned to face Edward, but before I could move, I found myself pressed against the wall. Edward had one cold hand on my throat, and the other around my wrists. He was completely enraged. I was so surprised that I didn't have time to be afraid.

"What made you call me Edward Masen?" he hissed between gritted teeth. I watched in shock as his eyes darkened from pale butterscotch to a harsh black. His nostrils flared. I knew he hated my smell – every time we were in close proximity his disgust was quite evident. My surprise was replaced by a towering anger.

"Let me go, dammit. What are you doing?" I wasn't yelling yet, but I would be soon. His body was pressed hard enough against me that I couldn't even fight back with a groin kick. His powerful physicality was intoxicating, as was his scent, and I got madder as a consequence of having noticed it.

"Tell me, now!" he demanded again. I wasn't afraid. Even in rage, I could tell he was controlled. I was restrained, but not in pain. I pulled my arms against his restraining hold and found his grip was immovable.

"First, you let me go. You have no right to manhandle me this way." I yanked harder, and he reluctantly let me go. I glared at him for a moment. It did not escape me that Jessica got the charm and a smile and I got yelling and the kung fu grip. "It was the first name that came to mind. Dr. Masen was the emergency room doctor when I was in high school. I saw him a lot, actually. I went to school with his kids, too." I did _not_ mention that the name "Masen" came to mind so quickly because, until I met Edward, I thought Dr. Masen was the handsomest man I had ever seen in person. He sure was a lot nicer than Edward. I renewed my glare.

"What makes you associate me with your ER doctor?" asked Edward. I thought I detected a note of suspicion in his voice.

"I don't know," I fibbed. I was not about to tell God's gift to Jessica that I thought he was hot. "Maybe because we spent the better part of a day in an ambulance together?"

"I usually use Rogers for a surname. I thought you knew that." He glanced down to see me chafing my wrists. "Did I...did I hurt you?"

"Not exactly. I'll be fine." I'd probably bruise a little, but that wasn't unusual for me. "I forgot about using Rogers. That's what you used at the nursing home," I said in an apologetic tone. Something was really wrong with his reaction to the name "Masen," but I doubted I would get a straight answer out of him.

"I'm sorry if I hurt you. I have to work very hard to protect my identity. I think you understand why, especially now," he capitulated.

"Wait, aren't you worried?" I waved my hands around the apartment and tried to mime "listening" to indicate the possibility of bugs. Edward watched me with a raised eyebrow, which morphed into an amused smirk when he realized the meaning behind my gesticulations.

"I already scanned," he answered, pulling a device out of his pocket. "There's nothing in this room. I can usually sense them, too. The chips have a slight odor, and the electrical use makes a faint vibration."

"Faint vibration?" I asked.

"Faint for me. I don't think you could hear it. Let's scan the rest of the apartment." He fiddled with the device in his hand and headed down the hallway. "What room is this?" he asked, his hand hovering over a door knob.

"That's the linen closet. The next door is the bathroom, and the last door is my bedroom." Edward briefly scanned the closet, and then moved on to the bathroom. I noticed he took several deep breaths there.

"Wait here in the hall, please," he instructed as he headed into my bedroom. I suddenly couldn't remember what state I'd left it in, but I flushed a bit as I remembered the unmade bed and that the tank and shorts I'd worn last night were on the floor between the bed and my door to the bathroom. And my panties. I disregarded Edward's request and followed him quickly into my bedroom hoping I could kick the clothes under the bed before he noticed. Edward stopped suddenly, and turned to face me. "In the hall, please."

"Why?" I asked with some defiance. Edward grabbed my arm and dragged me back out of the bedroom. He glared at me for a moment in the hall then looked down at the floor.

"You know I have heightened senses, and your room smells very strongly of your scent," he answered softly but so quickly I had to strain to catch every word. "It will be…simpler if you wait here."

"I'm sorry," I responded sadly, and he looked up at me in surprise. "I know you find my smell unpleasant." Edward's appearance of surprise turned to wild disbelief.

"Unpleasant? Quite the contrary. But in either case, it is very distracting." He looked at me sternly. "Stay here. Please." He stepped around me into my room. My mind reeled. He didn't find me unpleasant? I could find no other explanation for his violent reactions toward me. You don't respond to a pleasant odor by screaming at someone. In the end, I decided he was sparing my feelings, or else he was mildly bipolar. I'd have to look into that.

After a minute or two, Edward returned with a shrug. "Nothing on the scanner, and nothing I could sense. I'm actually surprised there wasn't anything here. Now, I think I caught an odd scent in the living room, and I'd like to get a fix on your mystery visitor."

"Mystery Man," I said under my breath.

"Mystery Man, eh? Very catchy," he smiled, turning back to look at me. He stood in the center of the living room, and I hovered in the hall entrance. Edward wandered to the couch. "He sits here, is that right?"

"Yes."

"I'm surprised _you_ can't smell this. It's very strong."

"Cigarettes and an odd cologne," I answered. "I want to steam clean. The smell makes me feel dirty." I was shocked yet again, when Edward materialized in a puff of air in front of me.

"What do you mean? Has he done anything to you?" He was angry again, or perhaps just fierce. His emotional turmoil was giving me mental whiplash.

"You mean beyond violating my home multiple times?" I asked, my voice rising. "It's upsetting. I should be able to believe I'm safe here. Now I know there isn't anywhere safe. I mean, he's left me things in my Pentagon office." I started shaking. Some of it was the fear, some of it the frustration, and a bit was edging toward anger that I was showing any weakness in front of Edward.

"Shh. Stop," Edward said, his voice slightly panicked. He pushed me over to the smelly couch. "Sit. I'll get you some water." I could tell he was completely out of his element, despite his medical training.

I settled onto the couch, absently picking up the newspaper from the seat beside me. I noticed it fluttered since my hands were still shaking, and I forced them to hold it steady. I hadn't had time to read it before heading out in the morning, but a shoe sale ad was circled on the back of the local section. I guessed Jessica had looked over the paper while she had waited for her date. Just above the ad, a tiny briefs headline caught my eye. "Virginia Professor Dies in Hit and Run" was the headline. The paragraph was about Dr. Daniel Bradford, psychologist.

**AN2: ebhg and I auctioned off a one-shot in the Masen and Swan series to belli486 for the Fandom Gives Back, so we'll be working on that in the near future. Congrats belli486! I hope we can make it worth your while!**

**The Cold War has been nominated in the Vampies (twificpics dot com slash vampawards) for "****Evil Always Wins…Because Good is Dumb" (Best Volturi/Nomads)****. There are a few other stories in that category which I would vote for before TCW (i.e., philadelphic's La Canzone della Bella Cigna), so definitely a case where it's an honor to be in that company. Voting begins July 11. In other categories, Justine Lark and Elise Shaw are up for awards they surely deserve.**

**I made a blog, originally to record some of the Soldier X facts in one place, although I threw some TCW/AoA and Masen and Swan on there as well, along with teasers). It's at gleena34 dot blogspot dot com (listed as my homepage on the ff profile). Someone told me you need to register to see it, but I think I fixed that? I also made a twitter account, but I'm really not sure why. I'm gleena34 there as well.**


	12. Film Noir

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Thanks readers and reviewers! As usual, I am indebted to edward-bella-harry-ginny for pre-reading, suggesting, and betaing this chapter. **

**Recap: Bella has confessed to McCarty and Edward about Mystery Man's visits. As Edward sweeps her apartment for bugs or surveillance devices, she discovers her colleague Danny Bradford has been killed.**

_I settled onto the couch, absently picking up the newspaper from the seat beside me. I noticed it fluttered since my hands were still shaking, and I forced them to hold it steady. I hadn't had time to read it before heading out in the morning, but a shoe sale ad was circled on the back of the local section. I guessed Jessica had looked over the paper while she had waited for her date. Just above the ad, a tiny briefs headline caught my eye. "Virginia Professor Dies in Hit and Run" was the headline. The paragraph was about Dr. Daniel Bradford, psychologist._

Ch. 12. Film Noir

Out of nowhere, Edward was handing me a glass of water, doing his impression of the magical appearing man. I was still frozen over the newspaper. My eyes swiveled up to his face.

"I knew him," I said, pointing to the paper. Somehow, more eloquent or more useful words were escaping me.

"Who? Daniel Bradford?" Edward was reading the paper upside down, effortlessly. Even in the midst of my freak-out, I was impressed.

"Yes; we had the same research advisor," I answered. That didn't explain things either.

"I'm sorry," he said, a wrinkle appearing in his pale, aristocratic brow. He cautiously set the glass of water down on the coffee table. I could tell he was confused, but in my numb state I couldn't determine how to communicate my distress. Relating facts was the easiest option.

"He came to me on the metro, the day we got back from Afghanistan. He was upset; he said people were using him and he wanted to warn me." I tried to convey the seriousness of the situation, but my words seemed flat. "He was scared, Edward. He came looking for me. He said he'd left his cell phone, he'd changed his clothes, and he kept changing taxis. He didn't want them to follow him."

"Did he say who they were?" asked Edward sharply. He was beginning to understand.

"No. Do you think it was really an accident?" I was hoping.

"No," he answered. "Although stranger coincidences have occurred before," he muttered, shooting me a strange look.

"What do I do?" I asked.

"Nothing, for now. If he was involved in the same fishing expedition you've been dragged into, he may have been killed for his erratic behavior." Edward looked at me with concern. "The apartment is clean, so I'm going to call the car, Major."

"Yeah, okay, do nothing," I responded. Edward tugged lightly at the paper, and it slipped out of my fingers. He dropped it on the coffee table, and then sat beside me on the sofa.

"Major Swan," he started.

"Bella. My friends call me Bella," I told him as I stared ahead into the kitchen. My voice sounded flat to my ears. "I call you Edward, right?"

"Right. Bella, look at me." Edward's voice was very soothing, and I turned slowly to see his intense gold-tinted eyes. "Relax." He was so close, I could smell his luscious cologne. My eyelids felt heavy. "I won't let anything happen to you. Do you believe me?"

"Yes. I believe you, Edward," I murmured. He was leaning toward me, and I mirrored him. He shut his eyes tightly for a moment.

"Good," he said briskly, clapping me on the shoulder. I was immediately alert. What in the world had he just done? And where did he go? "What do you do for fun Maj—uh, Bella?" Edward asked from across the room; he was now wandering around my living room looking at…well, there wasn't much to see.

"I like to run," I said. It was the first thing that came to mind. In fact, I didn't much like it, but running had been a necessary evil since high school.

"I do as well," he told me with a smile. "What else?"

"Are you distracting me?"

"Is it working?" He gave me a grin, reminiscent of the one he'd had after nearly being blown to kingdom come. I couldn't help but smile back.

"I suppose. So what do you do for fun, besides run?"

"I asked first," he challenged.

"Hmm. I used to love reading the classics."

"Like Homer and Virgil?"

"Uh, well, I have read Homer. But I was thinking more like Bronte and Austen."

"Oh, hmm. I have read those, but they didn't do much for me," he admitted.

"Not a fan of romance, I take it?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Never saw much point, although I suppose I could be convinced." The end of that sentence was softer, almost an afterthought.

"Your turn," I cajoled. "What else do you do besides run?"

"Perhaps we'll take it up later," Edward hedged. "The car is here." He waved his phone at me.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Back at the facility, I sat numbly and listened as Edward explained the situation with Danny to Col. McCarty. Edward was fairly dispassionate in his description, but the colonel glared at me a few times.

"I'm sorry you lost a friend, Major Swan, but could you please let me know if you have any other potentially dangerous secrets?" Col. McCarty was clearly torn between aggravation and sympathy.

"I can't think of anything else, sir," I said dully. The office fell silent; I didn't look up, but I imagined the two were sharing one of their message-laden looks. They were worse than an old married couple. "Well, I suppose there's the party the senator is throwing."

"Senator James is throwing a party and you're going?" asked McCarty. A pencil snapped in his hands, and he tossed the broken pieces over his shoulders. I related the plans Col. Brown and Sen. James had developed for me to be the public face of the new Veteran's package in the upcoming defense bill.

"I suppose the best part was when Sen. James offered his son up as my date," I added wryly.

"No," Edward stated emphatically. "Not if you're talking about Maj. Victor James."

"I didn't accept," I said in annoyance. I glared at Edward again.

"Maybe we can send Rodney with you," Col. McCarty mused.

"I have my own date, thanks. I appreciate the charity," I spat. What was up with getting me a date? Did I really seem that hard up?

"Who is that?" asked Edward sharply. "Someone from your office?"

"No, a friend from Washington. Someone who went to school with me." We glared at each other now, a standoff finally broken by a loud sigh from Col. McCarty.

"All right, take Major Swan to the computer room and check over the surveillance footage from her apartment. I'll see if I can find out which unit Bradford was assigned to. Dismissed." Col. McCarty was shaking his head and picking up the phone as we left.

"So, you have a friend flying out to DC to take you to a party," Edward said. He was practically marching me down the hall, but he hadn't glanced at me once.

"Yes." I didn't think he deserved the backstory. I was still mad at him and McCarty, and I had no reason to forgive any time soon. I knew I couldn't outwalk him down the corridor, so I settled for keeping my eyes forward. Hence, my complete surprise when he grabbed my arm to stop me. The look on his face was difficult to decipher.

"Does your_ friend_ know the dangers you've attracted to yourself? Does he know what he's walking into? Do you think he can protect you?" Edward demanded in a hiss. I couldn't answer right away. Was I naïve to think that Ben would be safe while here? I struck back defensively.

"We're going to be in a very public place. There will be senators and congressmen and who knows else there. I think we'll be just fine. And, no, he doesn't know what I'm in the middle of because, in case you forgot, I signed documents which prevent me from telling him anything about it." At this point, I had actually backed Edward to the wall, and I was jabbing him in the chest with my finger. He was looking at me in shock, but then his eyes narrowed. He grasped the hand that I was using to poke at him.

"You're going to injure yourself, Major." I looked at his long fingers enveloping my hand and felt my skin pebble in response to his touch. I slowly withdrew my hand from his.

"Were you taking me somewhere?" I asked in a shaky voice.

Without another word, Edward led me to a hallway I'd not seen before down on the same floor as the cafeteria, the bunk rooms, and the gym area. He opened a nondescript door, and suddenly I felt like I was on the set of a television show. There were flat screen tvs and computer monitors everywhere.

"It's like a Best Buy came along and puked the high tech section out," I muttered.

"You like?" asked Shannon. She was typing on a keyboard and wearing a headset. "I've got the relevant parts of the building surveillance queued up. Watch that screen." She pointed to the central flat screen, a monstrous sixty-inch LCD panel. "The first segment is from the night of your first encounter."

The screen showed the hallway on my apartment floor rendered in black and white, slightly grainy video. A time stamp rolled slowly in the lower left corner. The picture jumped with static, and then a figure in a hoodie over a tracksuit walked confidently to my door. As the person turned my door handle, they looked towards the camera, giving us just a peek at the face.

"That's Major Crowley," I said in disbelief.

"You know him?" asked Edward, his voice clipped.

"Yeah, he's on the task force with me at the Pentagon. He works in the same office with me."

"Don't commit to that yet," Shannon warned as she manipulated the video with a touchscreen panel.

"No, that's definitely him," I insisted. What was going on? Static hit the picture again, and then I had that odd feeling you get when you see yourself on video. I watched as on-screen I walked to my door, unlocked it, and disappeared through. The screen jumped as Shannon fast-forwarded to when Tyler left my apartment, although his face was never visible on his exit.

"Here's the video from earlier this week," Shannon announced. It was very similar to the video from the first visit. Again, there was a brief instant where Tyler's face turned toward the camera, giving us a glimpse of his features.

"Notice anything odd?" asked Shannon.

"Not really," I admitted. "Unless you count the fact that my coworker is sneaking into my apartment." I felt sick. I thought he was a nice guy; a bit aloof, but nice.

"The video time-stamp doesn't match exactly," said Edward. "Every time the static hits, the video loses or gains a fraction of a second."

"How can you even tell?" I demanded. "Never mind. Pretend I didn't ask." When Edward grinned at me, I rolled my eyes.

"The time loss is good. Let me do a close-up of his face." Shannon fiddled with something on the computer, and we got a good look at Tyler's face as his head turned.

"There's no shadow from his hood," Edward said. After he said that, it was obvious that Tyler's face was a little too clear, considering how the hood drooped.

"You always get these things," pouted Shannon. "Col. McCarty is much more fun."

"Did I hear my name?" asked McCarty, entering the room. "Of course I'm more fun than Edward."

"The video's been tampered with, sir," Shannon announced formally. "The job is amateur, but the information we want has been effectively destroyed. Sir."

"Good work, lieutenant. I didn't expect it would be easy." McCarty shared another of those weighty glances with Edward.

"So it isn't Major Crowley?" I asked, uncertain.

"We can't rule that out completely. It is possible they pasted his own face over his face on the video," Edward replied.

"That's just weird," McCarty said, frowning at Edward. "What, is that like a purloined letter?"

"Not exactly. Did you even read that story?" Edward was shaking his head in disgust at the colonel. The entire situation was so surreal.

"Back to my office. We have some things to discuss," ordered McCarty, ignoring Edward's gibe.

Once we were back in McCarty's office, the colonel called for Heinz to join us. McCarty described the situation to Maj. Heinz, leaving out the fact that he and Edward suspected something from the beginning.

"I don't like it," Edward began. "They've already killed this Prof. Bradford. They have compromised Maj. Swan's home and her office. They used her coworker's image on the surveillance video. She's in too much danger. I think we should pull her out of the Pentagon and keep her here."

"What?" I nearly burst with my anger. "That's ridiculous. I have a life. I have important work at the Pentagon." My anger from earlier combined with this new annoyance making my temper blaze out of control.

"Which will never be completed if you're dead," Edward shot back. His jaw was set, his eyebrows were bunched, and he was using his height to his advantage. I felt like something was going seriously wrong with me because in the midst of the red haze of my anger, I kept thinking that angry Edward was hot. Living with Jess had warped my mind. I thought I could feel my temperature rising as I watched his nostrils flare and a muscle in his cheek jump.

"Unfortunately, she's right," Col. McCarty interjected. "This business with Sen. James has raised her profile. She can't step down now."

"Nothing has happened yet with that," Edward argued back, breaking eye contact with me. I released a relieved breath, wishing I could as easily dispel the mixture of anger and desire towards Edward and disgust with myself. "They'll find someone else to champion this Veteran's package."

"We'll never catch them if we hide her," Heinz stated. I was angry and Edward was livid, but Heinz was emotionally disconnected and objective. McCarty looked at each of us in turn, and then sighed. There was no good argument against Heinz's suggestion. Of course, I was a little smug that Heinz's plan meant that I got my way.

"This is going to be dangerous," announced Col. McCarty. "You've heard what they offered Maj. Swan – a guarantee of her bill passing Congress. That means we're dealing with influence. Catching whoever is behind this is the least of our worries. Even when we know who, how, and why, the tough part is going to be escaping with our lives and Edward's secret intact. What we need to do is use Maj. Swan to convince these people that there's nothing to see and that they can move along."

"Without killing her," Edward added firmly.

"Well, of course without killing her." McCarty looked like he was about to put Edward in time out. "To that end, we have a new official mission. I'm calling it Operation: Stop the Swan Song." He smiled with pride.

"You did not just say that," I muttered. The two halves of my life had now officially joined as Maj. Newton and Col. McCarty's senses of humor converged.

oOoOoOoOoOo

I spent the entire weekend at the facility, for my safety, according to Edward. It was my first time spending the night in the spartan single I had been assigned. It resembled a hospital room with its lack of amenities and tiny bathroom, but it was a lot less pleasant. There were repeated strategy meetings regarding my protection from suffering Danny's fate; I found these tedious since they tended to devolve into a power struggle between Edward and Major Heinz. The colonel was home with his family leaving me as the only buffer between the two. I rapidly found excuses to spend time with Franky or Shannon and Rodney when I saw either of the two majors heading in my direction. I had little to do since my official reason for being with the team was now pointless. And I needed separation from Edward. His volatile presence was making it difficult for me to think objectively about my life and career.

"What exactly is going on with you, Major Edward and Major Heinz," asked Franky at one point as she spotted me in the weight room. "Did you develop an allergy to them?" With no TV or books or internet or phone in my room, I had settled on punishing exercise as the way to lure sleep and thereby speed the weekend.

"Am I that obvious?" I asked with resignation during an exhale as I executed an inclined chest fly.

"Not just you. We rarely see Edward here at 'home,' and now he's haunting the mess hall and the gym," she answered. "That's eight. Take a break." I let my arms fall back and dropped the dumbbells to the floor.

"Ugh. Well, let me just say there's a mess going on and I'm desperately wishing I had no part in it." I wasn't sure how much of the situation or the plan McCarty was planning to reveal to the rest of the team.

"No problem." Franky smirked. "Speaking of." I looked up to see Edward standing in the door, an unreadable expression on his face. "Lawnmower pulls next."

Monday morning, Col. McCarty convened the entire team and revealed Operation: Stop the Swan Song. Rodney christened it STSS. He revealed that Danny had been serving as a psych consultant for a different special forces team and had completed his final report hours before his death.

"Should I try to go to his funeral?" I asked.

"No," Edward said emphatically as we exchanged our now customary glares.

"It could flush someone out of the woodwork," Heinz suggested. "We could be on-site, keep her safe."

"Would you have gone if he hadn't contacted you last week?" asked McCarty. I considered his words.

"I think I would have sent a card to his family and called my old boss to talk."

"Then that's what you're doing," the colonel stated.

The rest of Monday followed suit. I quickly lost track of the details. I was not a special forces operative, after all; I was intruding on their turf. At the end of the day, McCarty assigned Edward to take me home.

"How?" I asked. "Last week you made me babysit him."

"Oh, I've designated this an operation. Edward can operate solo if he's officially working a mission," McCarty said with an evil glint in his eye.

The car ride to my apartment was silent, at least for the first five minutes. I still had no clue who drove the batmobile, but Edward was sharing the backseat with me. He was dressed in his olive tee and camo pants, and in spite of my peevishness, I kept finding my eyes drawn to him. I managed to avoid looking him in the eye, though.

"Look, Bella, I'm sorry. I know you think I've been rude—" began Edward.

"Rude?" I interrupted in disbelief. "No. I don't think you've been rude. I think you and McCarty have put me in a horrible position to satisfy your curiosity about some random order which may or may not be targeting you. I think a colleague of mine is dead and I could be next. I think your solution to putting me in this position is to encourage me to destroy the rest of my career."

"You have quite the temper," he commented drily. I glowered at my opaque window. "Don't you see I'm trying to stop you from being killed?" Edward's tone was frustrated.

"I'm in the same army you're in, Edward. Last I knew, I agreed to give my life for this country as well."

"This is not a combat situation, and you know it. Stop being stubborn and let me help you. Let the team help you. You're right; I am mostly responsible for getting you into this mess. Let me fix this." At that point I made the mistake of looking up into his eyes. Even in the darkened car, I could see his iridescent irises set against his pale features. He was, as usual, devastating, and he was using every asset to his advantage. My eyes dropped from his eyes to his lips, just as they parted. "Please, Bella." His breath washed over me, a sweet scent which was surprisingly cool. I realized we had both leaned in slightly, bringing our faces closer together. I nodded, uncertain as to what I had just agreed. He raised one hand and brushed the back of his knuckles lightly down my cheek. "We're here."

"Are you coming in?" I asked.

"No, but I'll be keeping an eye on you. You will be safe, Bella," he replied. I left the vehicle, walking slightly unsteadily toward the elevator. The further I moved from the car, the more clear-headed I became while at the same time I became more confused. What was happening here?

My apartment was blessedly free of annoying men, whether mysteriously unknown or just mysterious. I flipped on the tv at a high volume and raided my freezer for ice cream. I could already tell I was going to hurt everywhere by morning and took a prophylactic ibuprofen. I pulled out a trashy novel and spent the remainder of the evening in denial.

Tuesday morning, I managed to pass a card shop on my way to work. I picked up a sympathy card for Danny's parents. I was early enough into my office that I beat even Angela. I worked steadily at my desk through the morning. At noon, I bit the bullet and picked up the phone.

"Molina speaking."

"Dr. Molina, it's Bella," I said sadly into the phone.

"I told you that if you want me to call you Bella, you'll have to call me Joe. Otherwise, you'll be Dr. Swan to me," he replied. They were the same words he'd used when congratulating me after my successful dissertation defense. Grief that had been suppressed by the stress of the weekend surfaced rapidly at the sound of his voice.

"Okay, Joe," I began before the tears hit. "I'm so sorry," I choked out. "This is hitting me pretty hard."

"I'm not surprised, Bella. He was too young, and his death is a tragedy." Dr. Molina's comforting voice soothed me enough that I could regain some of my equilibrium. "We're organizing a memorial service here, nothing big, but Danny's parents agreed to come. Do you think you can come next Tuesday?"

"I'm not sure, but I think I can make it. I'll have to talk with my CO." I sniffled quietly.

"Of course. I'll have Kelly email you the details. We're still working out time and location. We want to use the Memorial Chapel, if possible." Kelly was his stalwart secretary.

"Thank you. Let me know if you think there is something I can do," I answered.

"Certainly. Take care, Bella."

I was blowing my nose into a tissue when Angela poked her head into my office.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, giving me a concerned look.

"One of my grad school friends died in a car accident," I told her with a last sniffle.

"Let's get some lunch," she encouraged me.

"Yeah. I can't go far though. I've got a lot on my plate right now." I stood, feeling my quads protest. "But I've definitely got to eat." I needed ibuprofen in a bad way.

I told Angela at lunch about Danny and found that sharing my memories of him relieved some of the grief. We switched at some point to Ben and his impending visit. He'd be staying with me Thursday night until Sunday afternoon. As we wandered back through the halls to our office, it hit me for the first time that Edward would likely be surveilling me while Ben stayed at my place, and I had a rush of unease.

"I was going to bring Ben by the Pentagon and to see Arlington National Cemetery on Friday," I told Angela. "Would you like to meet us for lunch?"

"Oh, I don't want to intrude," she said shyly.

"Intrude? We're definitely NOT together," I assured her. "I'll have more than enough alone-time with Ben."

"If you're sure," she replied.

"I'm sure. I know you'll enjoy meeting him," I told Angela sincerely.

"Okay, just let me know where to meet you."

I returned to my office with my mail in hand, reading the memo on top about tomorrow's staff meeting. Apparently, I was going to be the main topic. I groaned. No wonder I'd been getting funny looks in the halls. This job was turning out to be something entirely different than advertised. I put down the memo and saw on my desk that I'd been left another manila envelope. A tendril of dread started to eat its way up my abdomen.

The envelope, marked "top secret" in red, stamped block letters, was large and very old; I could tell its age by its worn edges and the appearance of the string closure. It was crammed full; it was over an inch thick, and my fingers twitched with the need to examine the contents. I glanced over at my closed office door; I knew Mike could barge in at any moment. I didn't have the time to safely examine the envelope. I slipped it into my bag, and pulled up a document on my computer. I did my best to go through the motions of working, but although my eyes were on the computer screen, my entire conscious mind was desperately imagining the contents of the envelope.

I jumped several inches when my office door banged open.

"What's up Swan, trying to take flight?" Mike snickered.

"I _was _concentrating," I snapped back. It was true; I just wasn't concentrating on the screen.

"Whatcha working on?" he asked, oblivious to my annoyed tone. He sat on the edge of my desk and peered over my shoulder at the screen.

"I swear, Major Newton, you have no concept of boundaries." I was acutely aware of my bag at his feet. I willed my eyes to stay away from it. I was fairly certain I had closed it all the way. Besides, what would he even think of a manila envelope in my bag? All our work was unclassified. There were no restraints on taking our work home.

"Sorry. I thought you might be working on this. I found some statistics you might want," he apologized, looking like a kicked puppy.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm not having the best day. The staff meeting, you know?"

"Oh, right." He brightened and then helped me locate the statistics on our server.

In the end, Mike was very helpful, and I had a reasonably complete report by the end of the day despite my distractions. I waited in my office until everyone was gone, claiming I had a few more comments to type on the report. When the office was emptied, I locked my door and pulled the envelope from my bag. The smooth paper even felt old, the quality perceptibly different from envelopes I was used to handling. I unwound the string closure to the envelope and slid the contents out onto my desk. The stack was primarily paper, memos or letters, but there was a flat, black square box, about five inches by five inches. I examined the papers first.

The top sheet was a memo from early 1940, clearly typed on an old-fashioned type-writer and signed with a real fountain pen. The paper was foxed around the edges and had a yellowish tinge. It was from an Arthur Stallings in the State Department to President Roosevelt, thanking him for recognition for stopping a German spy ring. What could this have to do with me? The next memo was dated March 1941, also from Stallings to Roosevelt. This was another thanks for approving his project. What project? I flipped to the next page, labeled "Soldier X Project." This struck me as mostly propaganda, various techniques for combating the Axis powers with experimental weaponry. The following pages were descriptions of fantastical weapons which I knew had never existed. The last page labeled "Soldier X" was a sketch I recognized as Captain America, and next to it was scribbled the name "Steve Rogers." My hands froze.

I opened a browser window on my computer, and put "Steve Rogers" into the search engine. I should have known, considering Ben's impressive comic collection. Steve Rogers was Captain America's "real" identity. No wonder Edward used "Rogers" as his alias. I shook my head. He didn't really seem like the comic book type.

The next page was dated in the mid-fifties, and was from Colonel Roger Miller to President Eisenhower. The comments were as vague as the ones written by Stallings, but now the package had two links to Edward. I flipped pages, discovering all the remaining pages were from Miller to various people, but there was nothing explicit in the notes. The dates progressed from the first in the mid fifties to the last in the mid seventies, and his rank continued to increase along with the date. I couldn't remember his date of retirement off-hand, but it seemed it would have been after the final memo.

I picked up the last object from the envelope, the square flat black box. I removed the lid, and a folder paper fell out. It looked like it had once been the label on the box; the typed label merely said "Soldier X." The object in the box was a reel of 8 mm film.

By seven that evening, I was uncharacteristically speeding in my mini Coop towards Hampton. I was probably the only person I knew who actually owned an old-school 8 mm film projector, courtesy of Charlie. All our family videos were actually made with his 8 mm movie camera; I think he must have picked it all up at a flea market when Renee was pregnant. The oldest film we had was of Renee at First Beach looking like she had a beach ball under her sundress. Even pregnant and bloated, she was beautiful, and Charlie had captured her essence despite his crappy camera skills. I had them converted to DVD at some point in grad school, but I'd been unwilling to part with the paraphernalia which had been his. The movie equipment wasn't part of his job or part of the training sessions he'd done to get me ready for ROTC. It was just family.

I spent most of the drive trying to decide what I was going to say to Jess when I got there and wondering if someone from the team was following me. I couldn't for the life of me come up with an excuse to cover an emergency film festival in my old bedroom. I looked over at the passenger seat again; I was convinced the reel would vanish like leprechaun gold before I could view its contents. When I entered the old apartment, it was almost ten, pretty late for a Wednesday night, but Jess was nowhere to be found. The apartment was dark and quiet. I hurried to set up the projector and shut and locked my door. Oh, Lord, I hoped this wasn't a porno.

I projected directly on the back of the white door, a rectangle of color appearing. There was apparently no sound with the recording, so I heard only the whirring of the projector. I sat on my bed and watched as an older man spoke to a younger one in front of an obstacle course. They were both in army uniform. Behind them, young men were running the course, most looking fairly fit. The talking men were both squinting into the sun. I had no idea who they were or what this meant, but I guessed the era was approximately World War II. The movie changed to an indoor setting, a man with a goatee, glasses, and a white coat talking animatedly in front of what looked like the set of a B movie. There were bubbling flasks and a still, and behind all that a console with dials. I wanted to laugh. I had driven for three hours like a bat out of hell to see this? The scene changed again to the obstacle course, but clearly on a different day or at a different time. It was overcast or else nearing nightfall. The older man was on screen again, this time talking to someone I thought I recognized. The contents of the manila envelope had jogged my memory, I suppose; it was a very young Roger Miller. I guessed he was no more than twenty, so this was definitely World War II. My extensive research back in college on the life of the general had led me to a few early photos; it was definitely him. He was a nice-looking young man. He was in the same uniform as the men who'd been running the obstacle course.

The final scene lasted only about ten seconds, but was of the older man talking to the other young man again. Behind them and to the right, almost off the edge of the frame, Roger Miller was talking with another young soldier, someone I would recognize anywhere, anytime. It was Edward.

**AN2: So what does an army psychologist make of that?**

**I made a blog, originally to record some of the Soldier X facts in one place, although I threw some TCW/AoA and Masen and Swan on there as well, along with teasers). It's at gleena34 dot blogspot dot com (listed as my homepage on the ff profile). You can also catch me as gleena34 on twitter.**


	13. History

**Disclaimer: Everything in the Twilight universe belongs to Stephenie Meyer.**

**AN: Thanks readers and reviewers! As usual, I am indebted to edward-bella-harry-ginny for pre-reading, suggesting, and betaing this chapter.**

**Noble Korhedron and SolarEclipses also helped me out with some issues.**

**Recap: Bella has admitted to Edward's team that she is being stalked by Mystery Man and her colleague Danny Bradford has been killed. The team makes plans to protect her while ensuring their own safety. After receiving a mysterious manila envelope at her Pentagon office, Bella has rushed to her apartment in Hampton to view the 8mm film reel contained within. She discovers a WWII era film which happens to include footage of a very young General Roger Miller with Edward.**

_The final scene lasted only about ten seconds, but was of the older man talking to the other young man again. Behind them and to the right, almost off the edge of the frame, Roger Miller was talking with another young soldier, someone I would recognize anywhere, anytime. It was Edward._

Ch. 13. History

I wanted to face palm. I wanted to kick a hole in a wall, but I was currently being chauffeured by Mitch and a sergeant whose name escaped me but which rhymed with "alack." Jack? Mack? He looked sad all the time, so I'd associated his name with "alas and alack," but now I could never remember what it was supposed to rhyme with. Flack? Cadillac? It didn't help that my elite team had members named Jack, Brock, Frankie and Rick. It was ridiculous. Frankie was the only one I could remember consistently since she was the only female. Unfortunately, Edward had pronounced them all trustworthy after our usual screening process. Since he only picked about one out of every hundred qualified candidates, I was stuck with the four K's, as Rodney had dubbed them. And, for that matter, I was stuck with Rodney as well.

Anyway, ten years ago I would have given in to my urge to throw a tantrum, but for some reason the powers that be had seen fit to promote me to Colonel, head of an elite team. We were the best covert ops team that no one had ever heard of. And we had lost one moderately clumsy major somewhere between the front door of her apartment and wherever she had disappeared.

It was times like these that I missed General Roger Miller the most. His political savvy was second only to his cool head in a crisis. I would never forget the day he had plucked me out of my unit. I'd never really aimed higher than getting my butt out of backwoods Tennessee, but he said he'd seen something in me that made him think "leader." I wished I knew what he'd seen so I could pull a little of it out right now. I felt like the raw enlisted man I'd been over twenty years ago. I considered what my company CO would have said to me had I lost an officer in an elevator.

"Could you repeat what you just said, sergeant? Apparently I'm going deaf because I thought you said you'd lost her," I barked into my phone.

"She got in the elevator, sir, and the elevator went up to her floor, but she never got out on her floor. Sir." The male voice was becoming more tentative by the word. He only had to talk to me. I was the one who was going to have to call Edward and cue him in to the giant SNAFU on our hands. My super soldier had developed his first crush, I was sure of it. For years I'd teased him about being the iceman, but in one short month he'd gotten as hotheaded as a punchdrunk Irish boxer in a London pub.

"And you know this because…" I asked with teeth gritted.

"She doesn't show up on surveillance, sir, not on her floor, not in the lobby, and not in the parking garage." I hoped the poor sergeant wasn't wetting himself, and I had a brief surge of sympathy for him. I knew that somewhere a lieutenant was too angry or too scared to speak to me himself. It was either Rick or Brock, I thought. Or maybe Jack. Definitely not Frankie. Whoever it was, he was probably kicking the nearest wall and facepalming. Lucky slob.

"And the elevator?" I asked. Oh, the headache.

"The camera went out this afternoon, apparently, sir." This was said weakly enough that I had to strain to hear it.

"Was there an actual human under my command on site?" So I could strangle them later?

"Only in front of the apartment building, sir." I couldn't complain. We'd all agreed on the positioning, over-reliant on Shannon's magical touch with computers and cameras. Major Swan was apparently invisible to the cameras, and her phone was off, preventing GPS tracking. I shouldn't complain. Eight tantalizing insults floated up into my consciousness, and I nobly and wisely swallowed them all. I had a leaderly image to uphold. Lily Rose would have been proud but shocked.

"Has anyone thought to check if her car is still in the underground parking garage?" I asked. I thought I was calm, but the cracking noise made by the casing of my phone disagreed.

"Uh, checking sir. Um, subject's car is missing. Sir."

"So now you know what you're looking for. Move, sergeant!" I clicked off the phone and dropped it on the seat. I rolled my shoulders, rubbed my eyes, and sighed. I picked the phone back up and dialed the number.

"Sir." Edward's clipped tone was slightly bored. Everyone involved in this op was currently off-site. He had no idea what had gone down since he wasn't scheduled to take over surveillance until just after sunset.

"She's disappeared." I winced at his response and pulled the phone away from my ear. Clearly Edward had no image to uphold, especially in front of me. It was going to be an uncomfortable evening.

* * *

I sat staring, my mouth agape, unblinking, frozen, shocked…Was the film a fake, like Tyler's face on the surveillance tapes? I knew there was no way for me to tell. It was the most logical explanation. Absolutely. It was fake.

I realized the rhythmic tapping I could hear was the end of the film slapping as the reel continued to turn. I slowly unfroze and shut off the projector.

Who would fake a World War II era film with a currently living soldier in it? And who in the world had Edward's image in order to fake a film at all? The way I understood the situation, someone was using psych evals to sniff out the super soldier, and that someone currently had no proof of the super soldier's existence. Well, no proof except for vague references in the pile of documents sitting before me. I could connect the dots to Edward only because I knew about him firsthand. So why did they give me the envelope and the film?

I knew Shannon would be able to analyze the film. But what if it wasn't a fake? If this was real, she shouldn't see it. Even though I was certain the team kept secrets from me, this secret was so enormous that I sincerely doubted the whole team was aware. I could believe that McCarty knew, but not Heinz. Clearly Gen. Miller knew. Holy. Crow. The interactions between Edward and Gen. Miller suddenly took on a different light. The familiarity, the reading, the jokes, the nicknames…Gen. Miller was no mentor to Edward. He was an old pal. This was not fake. Not fake. I felt dizzy, and I had to put my head between my knees and take deep breaths.

Surely there were other explanations. I put the film back into the box and then into my bag, each movement slow and deliberate as my mind raced. Charlie would have been annoyed that I hadn't rewound the film, but there were bigger fish to fry. I smiled slightly at that Charlie-centric thought. I walked stiffly into the dark living area and back into the kitchen. I flipped on the light over the stove. I was sure Jess had something I needed in the cupboard above. Yes. Voila. A nice bottle of vodka. Two shots later, I was contemplating the alternatives.

Edward could be a clone. We could clone sheep and dogs and cats. Human clones were only a few steps of sophistication (and a whole layer of ethics) away from that. If the original Edward (Edward 1.0?) had been as talented as this Edward, cloning would have been a top priority. But he had talked with me about his parents when we were on the plane, and that conversation hadn't seemed like a lie. He didn't have to tell me that story. Then again, clones could have parents. You had to do something with them until they were old enough to be useful. And on a third hand, a clone wouldn't have that close friendship with Gen. Miller. I purposefully put the vodka away before I could be tempted to have any more. I flipped off the stove light and sat down at the kitchen table. Sitting in the dark apartment seemed fitting for this ridiculous mental argument with myself.

The answer that the documents were suggesting was that he was a prototype of some human experiment, a normal young man altered by a radioactive spider or gamma rays or the super soldier serum. The Captain America story was fresh in my mind after my internet research earlier. Steve Rogers had been injected or drank or ray-gunned with serum and hence been transformed from a weakling to the ripped giant of the comics. But if that was true about Edward, why weren't there any more of him? I had asked myself that question before. Somehow, I doubted it was because the scientist who created him was then shot and killed, thus leaving no record of the composition of the serum.

There was suspended animation. I didn't even have to look far in the comic book world to find that idea; Captain America was supposedly frozen in ice after World War II and then found and thawed out. Sure, it could happen. I rolled my eyes. I was enjoying thinking about this far too much, and I knew some of it had to do with the mystery that Edward posed. The rest of it was me taking advantage of a real reason to obsess about Edward.

Maybe Edward looked exactly like his dad. Or grand-dad. And when I said exactly, I meant _exactly_. His hair in the film was even the same length it was now. And that crooked smile was unmistakable. General Miller could be an old family friend.

Every possibility short of the one being offered flitted across my mind. He could not be – what? 80 years old? Super speed and super hearing were far more plausible than eternal youth.

I had a feeling only one person could really tell me the truth, and that was Edward.

I looked at the microwave clock. It was only eleven. It felt like a lot more time had passed since I had gotten in. Where was Jessica? I had time for a pretty reasonable amount of sleep before I had to get back on the road. I'd probably have to do park 'n ride at the first metro stop since morning DC traffic was the worst ever. In the universe.

I heard a key in the door. Jessica was going to be very surprised to see me, and I still didn't have any explanation for my presence in Hampton.

The door opened slowly, and I saw the silhouette in the door could not be Jessica – it was too large, too tall, and too male. The adrenaline surge of my fight-or-flight reflex rushed through my body. Faster than I could process in real-time, the door shut, and Edward was gripping my shoulders.

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" he snarled at me, but low enough that I wasn't afraid anyone would hear apart from me. "Haven't we spent the weekend devising plans to keep you from being killed?"

"Ah, I, what?" I asked dumbly. After avoiding him for most of the weekend, he was in my apartment, gripping me in a way which could have been intimate were he not mad enough to spit rocks. His beautiful face contorted in fury was still beautiful, if frightening. I had been right this weekend; angry Edward was hot. I realized that I was relieved to see him and not frightened at all.

"We've been looking for you for hours, Major Swan," he hissed. "How did you get out of DC without a trace?"

"I didn't know you'd be following me until after I had to turn in my report," I said, still slightly in shock. Why was he holding me so tightly? Why did it feel so good and so safe? Was the film a fake? What was he, really?

"How?" he demanded. His brows glowered over coal-black eyes.

"I don't know!" I shouted back, finally finding my equilibrium. "I wasn't trying to evade anyone. I just went home from work, got stuck in the elevator going up, went down the parking level, jumped in my car, and drove here."

"You're not on the cameras in the parking garage," he shot back.

"That is not my fault. Well, maybe," I admitted half-heartedly. "I sort of remembered the path you took in the garage when we went looking for the bugs in my apartment, and I was parked in that one corner the cameras don't see. But why didn't you call or something?"

"Your phone is off, Major Swan," he growled back.

"It is? No, I didn't turn it off," I answered, shaking my head vigorously. "Although, I might have forgotten to charge it last night. I was really tired." My voice trailed off.

Suddenly, he was crushing me to his chest, shaking from humorless laughter. "I thought you were gone for good, but you just wandered home for the night. What are the chances?"

"Suffocating here," I choked out. His body was unyielding against my own, and his hands were pressing my head into his chest. He smelled amazing. For a brief moment, I entertained the wild fantasy that he would find me as fascinating as I found him.

"Sorry," he apologized, loosening his grip on me. The look in his eyes was dramatically different from just a moment ago – I would have said relief or something similar had replaced a blinding rage. His eyes had faded from black to his usual topaz. "Let me call Emmett," he said quietly, his gaze nearly mesmerizing me.

"Of course." Did he know what he was doing to me? Was he worried about me for me, or because I was a weak link in his shield of secrecy?

He finally released me while he made his call. "I found the lost bird. Yes. Yes. In the morning." I noticed a look of consternation cross his features while he was listening. "Fine." Edward ended his call and turned toward me in confusion. "Why does your apartment smell like Roger?"

I'd forgotten the super soldier olfactory sense, at least in the context of the confidential file. "Yes. Well. I was going to get to that. We've discussed how I got here, but not why."

"Perhaps you should get to that now," he suggested while taking a step toward me.

"Someone left me a package when I was out to lunch," I began. His eyes bore into me, and I looked down to escape the distraction of his face. And shoulders. And…

"_Where_ did they leave it?" he asked, interrupting my wandering thoughts.

"On my desk."

"In the Pentagon?"

"Yes, that is, in fact, where they have conveniently placed my desk," I snapped back, looking back up in annoyance. I could see him bite back a comment. "It has papers from General Miller and from an Arthur Stallings"— Edward sighed heavily— "and a movie." Edward's head popped up.

"What?"

"A movie. And you're in it." I began to fidget. "It's from—"

"I know when it's from," he snapped. He clapped both hands to his face, then ran his fingers back through his hair. When he spoke again, he was quiet, with one hand over his eyes. "I'd always thought the camera had missed us. The cameraman wasn't paying attention to the whole frame; I knew that. I should have checked." He began pacing rapidly, muttering to himself. He was so rapid that he was blurring slightly when he executed a turn at the end of the room. I was getting dizzy. "I need to see the package," he announced, abruptly coming to a stop in front of me.

"It's in here," I told him, waving him into my room. What was that about the cameraman?

Edward paused at the door to my room, standing hesitantly in the doorway. He swallowed hard before taking a tentative step into the room. His eyes took in the blank walls and unadorned bookshelves.

"Most of my stuff is in boxes; I've been in transition for a while." Actually, some of my boxes hadn't been unpacked since college. Two degrees and a deployment had contributed to a general sense that each stage of my life was transitory, a mere blip in my own history.

Edward nodded, then knelt down to examine the folder. His elegant hands brushed the surface of the folder, and then he lifted it slightly to sniff it. "This belonged to Roger. The folder smells like his old office. I wonder how it slipped out of his hands." He flipped the folder open, and ran one long finger delicately down the thank you letter from Stallings to President Roosevelt. His eyes closed briefly, and I imagined he was reliving moments long gone.

"I wasn't sure what a German spy ring in 1940 had to do with the rest of it," I said tentatively, reluctant to break what I supposed was his commune with the past. I curled up on the bed, my legs tucked under me.

"It was the first mission we did together," he said quietly, reopening his eyes. He began to riffle through the papers. A chill ran through me. It was true. The clone theory was officially dead.

"I guess I know now why you use Steve Rogers for your alias," I commented when he reached the pages with Captain America sketches.

"Yes. Stallings was a big proponent of plausible deniability."

"How did General Miller get involved?" I asked.

"It's a long story, but essentially he was picked for the first team. We were tasked with infiltrating German spy rings. He's fluent."

"That's not part of his official biography," I noted. I had so many questions to ask, but I'd been through so many shocks already, I didn't know if I was prepared for answers.

"For good reason. Anything about those days could lead to me. We thought we'd destroyed any links to that time, but obviously we missed some key pieces. Between Art and Roger, I've been protected from most of the unwanted attention that might have arisen. This movie has information that isn't known to anyone left alive outside Roger and Emmett. Even the top brass isn't aware of my complete history."

"How is that possible?" I settled on the floor next to him with my back against my bed.

"Art was well-connected politically, and he trained Roger from early on to take over his work. In turn, Roger worked with Emmett. I owe them a lot. Roger kept pulling strings behind the scenes right up until his stroke." I sensed there were stories he wasn't revealing, a long history of working with these men to serve the country and to protect his secrets.

"Do you want to see the movie?" I asked.

"Oh, why not," he groused. He sat on the edge of my bed and waited.

I pulled the film box back out of my bag and set the projector up again. Edward picked up the box containing the film and sniffed it delicately. "I can smell you and Roger, but no one else. I don't think anyone's watched it. We can always hope for the best."

I took the box from him, pulled the film back out, and set up the reels on the projector. Edward watched me intently, and at one point I stuck my tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to the envelope contents. Once I had the film set, I sat beside him on the bed. We sat silently through the short film, Edward clicking his tongue when his image appeared.

"Easy to destroy, but how can I be sure there are no other copies? 'Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.' Roger likes that adage," he murmured, almost to himself. I got up to turn off the projector and returned to my spot on the bed next to him.

"I wonder if General Miller would know if there are other copies?" I mused aloud, my eyes cutting over to Edward's striking profile. Little things added up, if ever so slowly.

"I see him tonight," he answered absently. "I always go on Wednesdays."

"You're very protective of him."

"As I am of all my team members," he said, his eyes suddenly burning into mine. "I would do anything to protect you. Every time I lose another, it's like a stab to the gut." He looked away and laughed bitterly. His words put a new spin on his behavior immediately after finding me here in the apartment. The disappointment surged through me, but I tamped it down quickly. "I thought I could keep my distance from everyone," he continued. "Art arranged the first team so I could stay apart, work on my own with minimal contact. And then, a young officer who thought he was Heaven's gift to espionage got in over his head. I was too far to intervene, but close enough to save his life."

"General Miller?"

"Yes. Roger was shot, and would have been left for dead, but I dispensed of the traitors and got him to medical attention. After that, I couldn't deny the bond I developed to the team members. But it's more intense for the ones I have to rescue from imminent death." He smirked. "I wish you could hear this from Roger's point of view. He tells a good story."

"How many have you had to save?"

"A good number. I keep track of them, you know. I can't keep in contact, of course. No one knows how long my career actually is outside Roger, Emmett, and now you. About every ten years, we dissolve the team and reform under a new arm of the bureaucracy."

"The military way," I commented.

"So far it seems to have worked."

"Why do you want distance between yourself and the team?" I asked. He was an enigma, a mysterious figure to everyone around him save Colonel McCarty and the general. I knew he was opening up to me more than he had to others, and I could admit to myself that this was alluring to me. Did every woman crave a mysterious man only they could understand?

"A lot of reasons. The first reason is the secrecy. I'm only useful at my job if no one knows I'm there. The second is protection for the team. If they don't know me or anything about me, they aren't in danger from sharing the secret."

"But enemies wouldn't know your team doesn't know everything about you," I argued.

"The most likely way an enemy would learn about me is from someone on the team. If they can't tell anyone about me, then there's no need to get more information out of them." He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

"Were there other reasons?" I asked.

"You know I'm different," he said, suddenly from across the room. I reminded myself that he could outrun a bomb shock wave, at least over short distances. He was examining the spine of a book in minute detail. "I don't age the same. Look at how time has affected Roger. We've spent so many years together, but soon he'll be gone. We went from enemies to brothers to father and son, and now he's like a grandfather to me. I can't go through that with everyone. And then, there's the other side of this transformation."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm faster and have improved senses, but there were other, more pernicious changes. We downplay this side of things, but it affected how I feel, my instincts. I have a very…predatory nature. I could kill someone if I didn't watch myself every moment. And there are times when the urge to kill is overwhelming."

I nodded to myself. I had seen the wildness, the barely-leashed power, the first time I had met him. "But you don't kill indiscriminately, Edward. You're better than you give yourself credit for."

"No." He turned to face me, and there was anguish in his features that I knew I could never understand. He'd had decades to develop pain this deep. "The aggressive side is very strong, one that I struggle with every day. Usually, I use it when I need it and then lock it away, but I've lost control before. I was working alone, but Roger knows. It was a long time ago, but it was devastating. I was out of my mind, but the memories are there. I can remember everything I did, every person who died that day. I'm not a good person to be around."

"Edward, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you still in the army? You've put in your time, more than a lifetime's worth. You can't possibly owe the country any more service."

"I think I'd rather hear some answers from you. Haven't you learned enough about me for one night?" His lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace.

"What could you possibly want to know about me?" I asked, disbelief coloring my tone. Edward was the most interesting person I had ever met. Why would he want to know anything about me?

"It's not a want, exactly. I need to know more about your date for this weekend. I can't go into this blindly." Edward's expression was now impassive and professional. Of course.

"Oh. Right." How much to tell? "My date is Ben Cheney; we went to high school and college together. He's a rich computer programmer now, but back then he was uber nerd and I was super geek. We were always in the library together, and we bonded over our mutual hatred of the mean girls. We were together for about three months of college, but it didn't really work. We've stayed close."

"Close friends don't fly across the country for a night out," Edward said suspiciously. "I doubt he sees you as merely a friend."

"I think you've been watching Meg Ryan movies. Men and women can be friends, although I admit it helps to have a massive dose of incompatibility."

"Incompatibility. What would make someone incompatible with you, Major Swan?" I imagined as I looked away that he had a personal interest in my answers.

"I'm not that easy to get along with," I said with a jaw-cracking yawn. "Especially when you have a habit of strewing towels, socks, shoes, comic books, dirty dishes, food wrappers, and empty beer bottles on all available surfaces." I yawned again.

"You could have caught flies with that one, Swan. Let me drive you home. You can sleep on the way."

I wanted to protest, but accepting his offer would solve most of my immediate problems. "We still don't know who's after me or you and why they wanted me to see this," I pointed out as we packed up my belongings.

"It is mysterious," he agreed, shouldering my bag. He steered me out of the apartment and helped me into the passenger seat of my car. I watched him reverse out of the parking space, his face illuminated by the dash lights. My last conscious thought was that he looked good in the driver's seat of my car.

**AN2: Hi. It's been a while, and I have plenty of excuses, but they're boring. I *am* still working on AoA. The next chapter is half-drafted.**

**I made a blog, originally to record some of the Soldier X facts in one place, although I threw some TCW/AoA and Masen and Swan on there as well, along with teasers). It's at gleena34 dot blogspot dot com (listed as my homepage on the ff profile). You can also catch me as gleena34 on twitter.**


	14. Important

**AN: First, apologies. Excuses are at the end. So much thanks to ebhg for pre-reading, betaing, and being an unconventional therapist. Thanks to solareclipses for teaching me (over a year ago now) how to upload to ff with horizontal lines intact. THANKS to everyone who kept reviewing or PM'ing words of encouragement. I've been absent, and not just from here.**

**Recap: Bella has admitted to Edward's team that she is being stalked by Mystery Man and her colleague Danny Bradford has been killed. The team makes plans to protect her while ensuring their own safety. After receiving a mysterious manila envelope at her Pentagon office, Bella has rushed to her old apartment in Hampton to view the 8mm film reel contained within. She discovers a WWII era film which happens to include footage of a very young General Roger Miller with Edward. Edward finds her at her apartment and confesses that the footage of him is authentic.**

_I wanted to protest, but accepting his offer would solve most of my immediate problems. "We still don't know who's after me or you and why they wanted me to see this," I pointed out as we packed up my belongings._

_"It is mysterious," he agreed, shouldering my bag. He steered me out of the apartment and helped me into the passenger seat of my car. I watched him reverse out of the parking space, his face illuminated by the dash lights. My last conscious thought was that he looked good in the driver's seat of my car._

Chapter 14. Important

I was very warm, but not overly so. It was that perfect balance of heat and comfort, as when a room

is cold, but the sheets are soft and the comforter is the exact weight needed to nurture the ideal sleep cocoon. I rustled the covers a little and squeezed my eyes tighter as I rubbed my cheek against my pillow. What time was it? I couldn't sense light against my eyelids, and I hoped fervently that it wasn't 30 seconds to my alarm going off. I inhaled and hummed a contented sleepy murmur-sigh. And smelled the delicious odor of the sculpted superhero who had haunted my dreams. I could have vivid dreams, but they had never included odor.

"Who, exactly, is Todd?" Edward's smooth baritone was clipped with impatience.

My eyes shot open, and I sat up abruptly, smacking my bedside lamp into luminance with one outflung arm.

"You're awake this time." Edward was leaning against my bureau, legs crossed, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed. Last night's revelations burst into my consciousness, including the vague memory of being carried into my apartment in the dead of night. I blinked several times as my vision flipped from clear to blurry and back again. My mouth was dry and pasty, and the skin on my face felt weighted with a day's worth of grime.

"If you thought I was asleep, why did you ask me a question?" I demanded in a sleep-roughened croak. "And I don't know anyone named 'Todd.'" I ran one hand across my head. As expected, my hair felt like a tangled squirrel's nest of leafy twigs. Great.

The left side of Edward's mouth turned up, and his brow unfurrowed and then quirked. Superhero? More like bad guy. Bad and in my bedroom while I was sleeping? Who does that? A dawning realization led to a sense of horror. "Did I talk in my sleep?"

"Hmm. You are chattier at rest than you are in life," he replied, his expression tipping to open amusement. His olive t-shirt looked liked it was starched and ironed. His boots were shined to military perfection. Jerk. Really nice-smelling, neatly dressed, smirking jerk. I narrowed my eyes in censure. Only his hair defied military standard, but even that seemed to obey an unwritten regulation of artless style.

"And you chose to interrogate me." This was stated flatly. The few slumber parties I had attended in middle school had ended in my humiliation. Apparently, I was loquacious and honest in my sleep. The entire sixth grade knew I had a crush on Robbie Zielenga after one party, and I had never been able to speak to him again.

"As I said, chattier than in life."

"Were all your questions as useless as your last?"

"Are you always so irritable in the morning?"

"Stop answering my questions with questions. You're the one invading my bedroom and waking me before the alarm. You don't deserve to know, but in point of fact I don't know any Todds." I glared at him, and then made the mistake of glancing in the mirror...bedhead worse than I imagined...wrinkled, slept in clothes...at least I hadn't been wearing makeup to smear into a clown face.

"No Todds you have 'feelings' for?" he asked, his voice a shade colder. Edward's shoulders had gone stiff. I gaped at him. What was his problem? I cast my mind back to high school. Todd? None I could remember. Had he been looking at my yearbooks? My circle of acquaintances wasn't so large that a Todd could be lurking in the untold thousands.

"I'm sorry Edward. I can't think of any Todd's. It's a bit early in the morning for the third degree." I stood with as much dignity as I could muster considering my disheveled state and his pristine crispness.

My alarm buzzer went off, and I realized I hadn't docked my iPod. Had I left it in the Hampton apartment? The ice blue color on my bureau caught my eye, and the puzzle pieces slipped into place. Of course, Edward saw the lightbulb turn on over my head.

"Yes, that's how I found your Todd," he glowered at me.

I glared back, but popped the iPod into its dock and played my TOd playlist. The harsh opening chords of The Offspring's perverted version of "Feelings" were chased by Dexter's angry rant. Edward's eyebrow quirked again. "Not what you were expecting?"

"I am more familiar with the seventies version," he admitted. If I expected an apology or sheepishness, neither were forthcoming. I glared at him.

"I'm surprised you didn't just listen to it since you'd already invaded my bedroom, watched me sleep, and interrogated me without consent!" My last phrase was at triple the decibel level of the first. I would have popped him in the gut, but I'd already hurt myself on his ridiculously muscled chest the night before.

"So, you don't like Todd?" I wondered if anyone had ever gotten Edward this bewildered. I knew the team considered him cold and calculating, but I hadn't really gotten that vibe.

"TO'd. Like PO'd, except without the profanity. You know, ticked off? Sometimes I need a little hate music for my workouts, and The Offspring has the right mix of fury and satiric wit." I grabbed my uniform from the closet and flounced with the tattered remnants of my dignity to the bathroom. "You're welcome to make the coffee," I called over my shoulder.

After the shower had heated up, I stepped in and started to mutter under my breath about high-handed super soldiers with delusions of grandeur. The Star Wars reference reminded me that Ben would be here in a day and a half. How was this going to work? I remembered the superhearing and continued my rant internally, but the washcloth got wrung and tossed rather forcefully.

I was out, hair dried, and in proper uniform within 25 minutes. I walked out to the kitchen and my jaw literally dropped open. Edward stood in the middle of the kitchen, brown liquid dripping from the counter to the floor, grounds everywhere. Including a smear on his cheek.

"This is harder than it looks," he began ineffectually, one hand shuffling his hair to the side.

"Not really. And it doesn't look hard at all," I responded without thinking. "Really? Really, Edward? It's a coffee maker. It has no exploding parts."

"Well, if it had some of those, I'd be more likely to understand how to work it," he snapped. "I'm not a coffee-drinker. I was trying to do you a favor."

I took a deep breath. "You're right. I'm sorry. Let's get it cleaned—"

I'd forgotten the super speed. I literally blinked and the kitchen was sparkling, a strong smell of coffee the only evidence of Edward's mishap.

"You were saying?" he smirked, the supervillain at his leisure.

"Right. I've got to catch the metro—"

"No. We've got transportation arranged." Stiff and formal super soldier was back.

"To the Pentagon?"

"Yes. You had classified documents illegally delivered to you at your desk yesterday. You are not going to be out of surveillance range for the forseeable future, Major Swan."

"Fine. Then you can arrange for coffee and a bagel."

I had barely gotten into my office when the next phase of Seven Swans a Swimming (or whatever Col. McCarty had named it) had begun.

"Hot, right?" asked Major Newton in a poorly disguised whisper.

"Sure, ace. Swing for the fences." Tyler's ill-disguised sarcasm caused me to cough really hot coffee out my nose. Thank goodness for frosted office windows. I grabbed every napkin I could find off my desk.

Angela snuck into my office, causing me to drop soiled napkins all over my keyboard.

"Did you see her?" she asked in practically the same whisper as Mike.

"Did I see who?" I whispered back, holding up my hand in a pantomime of secrecy.

"Right," Angela said in her usual voice, clearing her throat. "Um, Colonel Brown's secretary has had some kind of family emergency, and they've brought in a civilian temp."

"Is that even possible?" I asked absently as I opened the database file I had been analyzing.

"I guess she had been doing other odd jobs for DoD? Anyway, she's just barely skimming the dress code for civilian workers. When Colonel Brown sees her, I think he's going to have a coronary."

I nodded half-heartedly as I highlighted a column of suspicious numbers. "Um, okay. Not really my problem, Angela. Hey, Ben comes in tomorrow evening. Would you like to do lunch with us Friday? We can pick you up since I'm taking the day off." I looked up expectantly.

"Sure, sounds good." Angela left my office with a smile. I hoped she wasn't disappointed that I was unenthused about new-girl gossip, but honestly. I had a report due and I couldn't bring myself to care about my own clothes, much less someone else's. As it turned out, I should have paid more attention.

I got up for my 10:15 coffee break, wandering the corridor to the ladies room. I had the misfortune of coming up behind Major Newton being a major pain to New Girl. I cringed the closer I got, concerned she might level a harassment suit against him.

I glanced up as I was about to pass, noting absently the tattoo on her arm and the knee-high black boots. I glanced at her face and nearly choked. New Girl was Frankie.

"Frankie? Unusual for a girl," commented Mike. "As in Frankie and Johnny?"

"Sure, just like that," Frankie replied, winking at Mike. Or was she winking at me? I shot an incredulous stare at her from behind Mike's back. "Are you auditioning to be Johnny?"

"Oh, hey, Major Swan, meet Frankie. She's subbing for Helen, you know Colonel Brown's secretary," Mike stuttered with a magenta blush, pulling me against my will into the interaction.

"Nice to meet you, Frankie," I said with a grimace masquerading as a forced smile. "I was just heading this way," I said waving toward the restrooms in a bid to escape. I was planning to kill Col. McCarty or Edward or both, I just didn't have a method yet. My bedroom was my sanctum, but I understood (sort of) why Edward had stayed. And it was hard to stay mad at him for it since he was, well, Edward. But at work? They had to put Frankie into my office area? Couldn't they, you know, electronically surveille?

I had only been in the bathroom a moment when Frankie joined me, rolling her eyes.

"How do you keep working with him? He's like an overgrown, eager labrador." Frankie shook her head.

"He's not so bad. Besides, he's more of a golden retriever." I watched her in the mirror, refusing to back down from my horrid mood.

"So, when did you get the call to work here?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest.

"Very early this morning. Apparently there was a terrible emergency with Col. Brown's usual assistant. I thought I heard something about a missing bird, possibly large white waterfowl, but I'm sure that can't be right." Frankie smirked. What was with the smirking? Did they practice that in spy school?

"Terrible emergency." I couldn't think of an easy way to convey my complete disgust.

"So I heard." Frankie shrugged.

"Can they hear us?" I asked quietly. Frankie tapped her chest with a nod.

"Fine," I said with resignation. "Just don't bug me while I'm working. I mean, don't bother me. Bugging is fine, preferable even to, I don't know, intrusive, overbearing, unnecessary, babysitting." The last sentence was virtually screamed into Frankie's chest. I smiled and relaxed.

"Better?" Frankie smirked.

"Much."

The humiliations of the working day mounted slowly after that. Col. Brown did not have a coronary when he eventually arrived and met his temp, but he did huff angrily when I insisted I had, indeed, found my own date for the Saturday evening soiree hosted by Senator James. He reminded me that I was to show up in civilian evening wear, as the senator had requested and insinuated that my personal wardrobe and taste might not be up to the challenge. He asked if I had a hairdresser lined up to take care of me. Unfortunately, he had also asked Frankie to sit in our discussions to take notes. She had a speculative look which made me nervous, and I suspected at times that she was responding to unheard comments over an earpiece. I left my CO's office shell-shocked, but under orders to have myself seen to by professionals.

At the end of a day which felt much longer than needed, I was informed by Frankie that I was to follow her out to meet the car which would escort me away. I wanted to protest, but really, the car was no hardship.

"I'm out of groceries," I muttered. "Can we drop by somewhere on the way to my apartment?"

"I'm not sure you're going home," admitted Frankie quietly. I raised an eyebrow questioningly, but she just shrugged. "The Team is working on your weekend plans. Apparently, you now have appointments for eveningwear selection on Friday and professional hair and makeup on Saturday."

I supposed I should be grateful. While the Colonel's comments were offensive, he may have had a point. There was nothing aside from uniforms in my closet that I would consider wearing in front of the honorable senator from South Carolina.

Frankie led me to a black car (surprise!), but when I slid into the backseat, she just waved good-bye and shut the door.

"Did you enjoy your day, Major Swan?" asked a familiar voice over the intercom.

"Major Edward, it could have been improved," I replied. Understatement of the day.

"We're making a detour to Arlington before I take you home, I hope you don't mind."

"Are you really asking?" I asked.

"No, not really." His voice carried an unmistakeable playfulness.

I huffed, and crossed my arms. I realized soon enough that we were headed for Cherry Hill Manor, the nursing home with General Miller.

"Um, Edward?" I wasn't sure how the intercom system worked. There wasn't anything to push.

"Yes, Major Swan?" Even through the tinny speaker, Edward's voice was rich and vibrant.

"You don't need me to escort you to visit General Miller. You're on an extended assignment, remember?"

"I thought you had questions for him? In any case, it will look less suspicious if I show up under normal circumstances."

"Oh. I see." I sighed and settled back into my seat, watching the early evening traffic.

Eventually, we pulled into the underground garage of Cherry Hill Manor.

"Ma'am?" asked Edward, opening my door and offering an arm. He was in uniform and had a package in his other hand.

"Why, thank you, major." I let him lead me to the elevator. "I've been wanting a word with you, by the way."

"I think I got your message earlier. Something about unnecessary babysitting?"

"That was one issue. The other was about invading a lady's bedroom without asking." We entered the elevator and stood side by side, facing the doors.

"I would have asked if you were conscious," he answered, looking down at me from the corner of his eye. He was in a surprisingly good mood.

"That makes it worse, you know," I pointed out.

"Hmm, it does make me seem the cad," he answered with a crooked grin, but our conversation was cut off by the elevator's arrival.

Edward introduced us to a perky young lady as Majors Rogers and Jones, and we proceeded back to the general's luxurious room. As we entered, I noticed immediately the beep of a heart monitor.

"He had a mild episode yesterday morning," Edward said quietly to me.

"I'm sorry," I responded, lightly touching his arm. Seeing the movie last night must have been truly bittersweet when his old friend was becoming more and more frail.

"Hello, Roger," said Edward in a raised voice. "Yes, I'm back, and I brought Bella with me."

"Hello, General Miller," I said, squeezing the general's hand. It was cool and dry in my own. "I hope you're feeling better."

"He wanted you to come back, you know," said Edward, smiling. "He thinks you're very pretty." I watched as the general's eyes flicked back from Edward to me, and I thought I saw one side of his mouth twitch.

"Thank you, sir," I responded to the general, trying to play along with Edward.

"I also brought a package that was left on Bella's desk in the Pentagon. It's all things from what I think are secret files of yours." Edward opened the package and pulled out a few pages. He read one letter aloud, and then showed the general one of the Captain America sketches. "There was also a movie. Yes, you remember, too. I know. How do you think they got to Bella's desk?"

I watched the interaction between the two of them, and I wondered how I missed their close friendship the last time we had visited. And how had I misinterpreted their conversations? It was clear now that they could communicate. But how? I decided I would puzzle that out later. The beeping of the heart monitor was speeding, slightly.

"Slow down, I get it. I need to find the rest of the files. Yes. It shouldn't be a problem." Edward glanced at me. "She can help. She's pretty strong. What? No." Edward rolled his eyes dramatically. "Fine. Yes, you're milking this illness for all it's worth, by the way." Edward motioned me over.

"What is it? Does he know where it all came from?" I asked.

"Yes. It was all archived at the Pentagon, but in a top secret holding area. Those documents are stored for some time and then destroyed. Someone must have deliberately gone looking through his old things. The movie was never his, though, so there must be a secondary source. We should be able to get the information about the storage facility and break in to get the rest."

"But if they had this much, everything is compromised."

"We can't be sure of that. They don't seem to have recognized the importance of this file. It is rather cryptic if you don't know me or the unwritten details of the Soldier X project. Roger is pretty confident that anything else from his files is similar to this. He didn't tend to keep anything in writing which might reveal our secrets. In any case, he wants to talk with you."

"Talk with me?" I asked, surprised. I turned to the general, and I could have sworn his eyes were smiling at me.

"Roger wants to know what you thought of our long lost home movie," began Edward, grimacing slightly. "Really, that's your first question? You were always a clumsy interrogator, you know."

I wasn't sure what to say. "I was shocked, of course. I didn't know what to believe. Then I decided that this wasn't too far-fetched, knowing what else I know about Edward."

Edward shook his head at me, and indecipherable smile on his face, but then whipped his head back to General Miller. "I am not asking that. Off the table. No. Not that either. Fine, yes. I brought her here, didn't I?" Edward turned back. "He wants you to know that you and Emmett are now the only ones who know that particular fact, that I've been around for so long."

"I think you mentioned that last night," I murmured.

"Yes, but Roger wants you to recognize where you stand. You're important." Edward flinched slightly. If I didn't know better, I would have said he was embarrassed. "Um, those are his words."

"I think there may be another important secret you're revealing," I pointed out.

"Yes, and that was Roger's idea as well," Edward frowned. "I suppose he has his reasons." Edward's attention turned back to the general. "Yes. Well, he wants me to tell you about this last secret. When I was...made this way, one of the first things I discovered was that I was bombarded with voices, some louder, others more garbled or faint, but I couldn't escape the barrage of noise in my head. It took me some time to sort out that it was other people's thoughts."

"You know what I've been thinking?" I demanded. If so, he was awfully good at hiding his knowledge. I'd mentally salivated over his physique, his voice, and his scent. I felt my face starting to heat. And yet, he'd acted like he thought I was a spy, or was surprised when I explained Mystery Man to him.

"No, that's just it," Edward responded with irritation. "You're the first person I've ever met who I can't hear. Emmett thinks it's hilarious; I find it annoyingly frustrating; but Roger thinks it's important."

"Me? But, I'm just...me?" I stared at Edward, then back at the general. He was watching me with what appeared to be affection. Fatherly affection? "Is there something wrong with me?" I asked in a small voice.

"I think between the two of us, I'm more abnormal," Edward answered sardonically. "Oh, and Roger says of the three of us, he's clearly the one with the worst health problems."

"So what do we do now? I mean, now that I know more of your secrets and you know about Mystery Man and I have this weekend of humiliation approaching?"

Edward and Roger looked at each other, some silent communication progressing between them. Then, Edward laid out a schedule of events for my weekend, proving Frankie had been correct about the Team's plans for arranging my appearance at the Senator's soiree. Edward also relayed some of the general's suggestions for likely guests at the party and which were likely to be interested in me and which were likely to be interested in the upcoming military care bill. It was a lot to take in, and I eventually succumbed to taking notes on borrowed stationery.

"You're forgetting something important," I interrupted eventually. "I have a date coming in, and I have to spend some part of this time entertaining him."

"We have a suite for him arranged," Edward interjected smoothly.

"No, he's staying with me," I replied.

"We don't think that's wise," he countered. The slightest movement from the general caught my eye.

"We?" I suspected the general was also startled to hear that pronoun. "And whyever not? I think I would give a lot more away by telling Ben he has to stay somewhere else." I could not imagine what excuse I could give for breaking our usual arrangements.

"Are you forgetting the surveillance we have you under? Chances are good we're not the only  
ones. Do you want your friend to be in danger from your mystery stalker?"

"Of course I don't want him in danger. But he flies back home Sunday and will likely not be back for ages, if ever."

"You know we're watching you every second. Nothing can happen while he's here, so he may as well stay at a hotel." Edward looked livid, brows lowered and jaw set. His eyes had changed from their iridescent golden brown to a smoldering coal black. He was practically incandescent. I knew I should probably calm him down, but I was approaching defcon 4 myself.

"He is a friend, Edward," I said, a little louder than I intended. I lowered my voice, but couldn't control the intensity behind it. "Since I was in high school. He will stay with me, and nothing will happen except good friends talking. He is doing me a great favor, and I am asking you—telling you—to please accept that this is what must happen."

Edward's eyes fluttered shut, and I could see he was struggling for control. He was not used to defiance by his subordinates, that was certain. Although we did have the same rank. I flicked at the bedspread in annoyance. I had never met anyone who could make me flit from fury to attraction and back within seconds.

Surprisingly, when Edward opened his eyes, they were on the general. A corner of his mouth turned up briefly. "Keep your thoughts to yourself, old man." He turned back to me. "Very well. I have been chastised by you both. Remember that we have you under surveillance. Please. I imagine I'm on the rota. Some things cannot be unseen."

"No kidding. I can't quite erase an image of someone who burned his own pants off in an explosion." If I expected Edward to blush, I was disappointed.

"Just remember," he said, tapping his temple. "If your friend Ben sees it or remembers it, I will see it as well." I gulped. Who knew what would pass through Ben's thoughts this weekend? Edward started, looking down at the general. "Yeah, I might have been closer to that explosion in Afghanistan than I mentioned."

I tuned out the two of them (or, at least, the one of them I could hear). This weekend was going to be a minefield for me, and that didn't even include getting dressed up for a formal evening with Senator James. I followed mindlessly as I was led back to the car. Ageless since at least World War II. Superstrong, superfast, superhearing, and mindreading. Except for me—and what did that mean? I was worried that with the mysterious, manipulative Mystery Man, the Senator's party, Ben's arrival, and the new surveillance plan, this weekend was more than a minefield. It was a smoldering powderkeg in a pool of rocket fuel. There was just one question I had for Edward as he let me into my own apartment.

"Have you ever seen Star Wars?"

**AN2: The excuses. I don't know. I read about people on this site with debilitating illnesses and deaths in the family and so on, and they soldier on. I find them very impressive. I can't point to anything specific that happened to me, but there were a lot of little (some big) things that all added up. The most significant which I will admit to was one of those big birthdays (you guys remember I'm old, right?), which led to some combination of depression and railing against the darkness. I did not light a candle (or 45, or whatever). This was accompanied by dieting and exercise which has left me smaller and more fit than I was at 18, but shockingly uncreative. Did this happen to anyone else? My husband thinks I'm imagining this. Even though I now have a "sedentary and satiated = creative" theory, I have continued the skinny lifestyle.**

**Where is the next AoA chapter? I hate to say this, but I am scrapping the next two and publishing them as outtakes, and then starting again. I won't say I hate everything I've written, but it doesn't seem like the next chapter to me, no matter how I twist it around.**


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